Parched
by ErtheChilde
Summary: While having dinner in Boston, the Doctor and Rose witness a horrifying event that leaves some of their fellow diners as no more than dessicated corpses. While investigating the strange phenomena, the Doctor and Rose encounter a division of the FBI whose jurisdiction are so-called "fringe" events. [TSL Timestamp 04]
1. Chapter One

**Summary: ****While having dinner in Boston, the Doctor and Rose witness a horrifying event that leaves some of their fellow diners as no more than dessicated corpses. While investigating the strange phenomena and trying to figure out the identity of a the mysterious bald man who fled the scene, the Doctor and Rose encounter a division of the FBI whose jurisdiction are so-called "fringe" events. Meanwhile, Agent Olivia Dunham finds herself suspicious of the odd Dr. John Smith and his young intern but forced to work with them in order to capture a remorseless killer.**

**Disclaimer: ****This story utilizes characters, situations and premises that are copyright the BBC, Fox and JJ Abrams. No infringement on their respective copyrights is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan oriented story is written solely for the author's own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All fiction, plot and Original Characters with the exception of those introduced in the books and graphic novels, are the sole creation of ErtheChilde and using them without permission is considered rude, in bad-taste and will reflect seriously on your credibility as a writer. There may or may not be a curse in your future as well, so be warned. Remembered all things come in threes, good and bad. Plagiarizing is considered bad.**

**Warning(s): ****_Spoilers_ : If it existed in any form of Doctor Who canon, whether television, novelization or graphic novel, it's probably going to be mentioned in here. That includes up to and including 12th/13th/Whatever Doctor Adventures. Likewise, material from Seasons 1 - 5 of Fringe may be used at any time in this fic. / ****_No Beta_ : I am beta-less at the mo', so any mistakes are my own. I edit as I go, though, so it shouldn't be too bad. / ****_Canadian-Writing-British:_As a Canadian, I'm not all-knowing when it comes to British idioms, sayings or slang. I write what sounds right to my ears and when it doubt, I look things up on the Internet, so I might not always get it right. If I'm way off about something, please drop me a line and I'll correct it.**

* * *

_'I tolerate this century, but I don't enjoy it.'_

* * *

'S'like a picture!'

The Doctor watched Rose Tyler lean over the railing, all sparkling brown eyes and delighted smile as she gazed across Boston's harbour. Every so often, a beam of light rotated across the sky, illuminating falling white flurries. Behind them, the sound of traffic slogging through snow drifts and slush provided the sole burden on the silence.

'You'd think you'd never seen snow before in your life,' he scoffed, although in secret, he enjoyed her enthusiasm. Her cheeks, flushed with cold and joy, were the only visible part of her. A thick parka and woollen cap, courtesy of the TARDIS, obscured the rest of her.

'Never this much!'

'What are you on about? I took you to Mt Everest! You tellin' me you didn't spot all the white stuff there?'

'Yeah, but that was different! I was too busy taking in the view. Seriously, look at that snowbank! S'got to be up to my knees, at least! Is it always like this here?'

'In winter or in Boston? Answer's usually both. Though to be fair, this isn't even one of the record breakers. It's got nothing on the sixth Ice Age, but then, the global super-storm era hasn't started yet.'

'Good thing, too, cos I don't fancy being turned into a human ice lolly.'

'There's a market for that on Shabadabadon, or so I've heard.'

'Where?'

'Planet famous for its ice caves. According to the guidebook, there's also a rather intriguing collection of living statues.'

'Oh, please, as if you've ever read a guidebook,' she dismissed, and then her eyes widened. 'Wait, _living_ statues? This I've got to see! Can we go there next?'

He shook his head.

'Never could get there, meself. Tried three times over the past few centuries and ended up somewhere else every time.'

'And how's that different from usual?' Rose teased, her grin peeking out over her scarf. It was such a welcome sight he didn't rise to the bait.

'Suppose it's not, is it?' he allowed, reaching out to take her gloved hand. She laughed and swung their joined hands back and forth; the Doctor felt something close to relief wash over him.

Something had been bothering Rose all day.

At first, the Doctor assumed exhaustion was the reason. Their latest adventure had allowed for little time to sleep. Since coming on board two weeks ago, Rose had made sleep a non-negotiable condition of their travelling together.

Whatever objections he raised to that disappeared upon experiencing a sleep-deprived Rose Tyler. He now fully supported her daily need for caffeine and didn't argue (much) when she sometimes disappeared into her room for a quick daze. She always returned, bright-eyed and up for their next adventure, so he no longer made a fuss about it.

Today, however, her distraction continued long after her kip, and he'd come to the realisation that something was bothering her.

Not that he asked her about it.

Centuries of travelling with women, young and old, had taught him to avoid such conversations. An opening like that might lead to an hour or more of ruminations on some inane aesthetic insecurity or another. An activity more tortuous than sitting in a room full of Vogon beatniks, in his opinion.

Besides, he knew what it was like to have things he didn't want to talk about. If Rose felt like telling him, she would. She didn't lack the ability to express herself, another fact their time together had taught him.

To divert her attention from whatever was bothering her, he'd offered to bring her to a destination of her choice. He determinedly maintained it was simple altruism and in no way a means to waylay his own (non-existent) curiosity.

As usual, she waffled a few seconds about him having better ideas, but in the end suggested Boston.

'You said something about pushing boxes at a tea party, right? So what was that all about?'

And instead of explaining why it was a bad idea to visit an event he personally took part in, he instead set the coordinates and took off.

As he launched into a lecture about the American Revolution, he reminded himself she wouldn't recognise the fifth version of him anyhow. He would simply ensure they just watched from the distance instead of participating.

A minor Blinovitch Limitation violation seemed a small price to pay for Rose Tyler's smile.

Or so he thought.

While they did end up in Boston Harbour, it was 2012 instead of 1773.

Avoidance of potential paradoxes aside, the fact the TARDIS got things wrong again grated on the Doctor.

Over the centuries, he had become accustomed to the faulty navigation and other oddities of his ship. But usually, when he tinkered or replaced something on the ship it stayed fixed for more than five minutes. He had just replaced the yearometer while Rose was sleeping off their romp through the twentieth century; he'd even stopped off for the proper parts and everything!

_ETAs should be bloody accurate again_, he thought angrily. There was really no excuse.

Yet another way the War had inevitably damaged his third heart as much as him.

Before he could fall back into the ever-waiting, ever-present guilt, Rose had asked what was wrong, and he shoved it aside; navigation problems he would deal with later.

At least twenty-first century Boston contained its own charms.

'Can we get something to eat?' Rose asked now, squeezing his hand. 'I'm starving – and don't get on about "inferior human digestive systems" again.'

'You said it, not me. Though I am a bit peckish meself.'

'Will wonders never cease?'

'None of your cheek, or I won't buy you any supper.'

'With what money?'

'Hm.' He glanced around and then spotted a cash machine in the distance. 'Hang on.'

He darted across the street and lost no time in setting the sonic to override the computer's card recognition system and PIN numbers. There was a whir, and it spewed out several hundred dollars in paper bills.

'Here we are,' he declared when he returned, handing her a wad of cash.

Rose raised an eyebrow as she took the money. 'So what, you've got a bank account or something?'

'Technically, yes. UNIT expense account. I don't use it though. Makes it too easy for them to keep track of me.'

'Didn't you say you worked for 'em?'

'I do. Doesn't mean I want them able to get a hold of me when I'm on sabbatical! Else they'd have me cleaning up every little sneeze on this planet,' he disdained.

'So if you don't want UNIT knowing where you are, where'd the money come from?'

'Not my UNIT account.'

'So what, you stole it?'

'Consider it the world doin' us a favour for saving it every other day.'

She seemed to consider that and eventually smiled. 'Yeah, okay, works for me.'

'Fantastic,' he pronounced and took her hand once more.

He had past companions who entertained moral compunctions about sonicking cash points. There may have been certain issues he and Rose disagreed on, but this was obviously not one of them. 'Come along then – let's find you something to eat.'

'Reckon they've got chips?' Rose enthused. 'No, wait, they call 'em "fries" here, don't they?'

'Never mind that! You can't have chips every place we go.'

'Sure I can! I've got to be able to compare from place to place.'

'That might be true, but you can't leave Boston without sampling their seafood. Some of the best clam chowder I've ever had.'

'If you say so.'

'I do say so!'

As they started to turn the corner, the Doctor suddenly experienced the familiar, hair raising sensation of being spied on.

It wasn't a completely foreign sensation to him; occasionally his perception filter failed or was ineffective against someone particularly observant. That sometimes led to unwanted attention and at worst incarceration.

This, though, this was something else.

There was a pinprick of awareness accompanying whoever or whatever was watching him right now. Without relying too much on his damaged senses, he could just sense the cool ripple of _presence_ outside its proper place and time.

He wanted to shake it off as paranoia, or even more distantly, wishful thinking, but that had never done any good in the past. Still, it wouldn't do to tell Rose anything out of the ordinary happening, not until he was sure at least.

'What's goin' on?'

Rose regarded him with concern, and he realised he must have allowed a lull in their conversation.

'Just remembered – best seafood's back that way,' he told her brightly.

It wasn't a lie – not really.

The strange sensation did seem to originate from the same direction as an upmarket restaurant he knew. The whole thing was likely nothing – an overactive paranoia from lack of sleep on his part. But if it turned out to be something, at least he would be around to do something.

Either way, Rose trusted him and let him lead her back in the direction they had come from.

After ten minutes of wandering around, distracting her with cheerful lecturing, the Doctor still couldn't pinpoint the exact location of whatever was messing with his senses.

_Nothing for it_, he decided he and he resolutely led Rose toward the restaurant.

∙ ΘΣ ∙

'Hey – whoa, whoa! Wait! I've got it!'

Olivia Dunham found herself smoothly manoeuvred away from the trunk of the SUV and the box marked _Old Photos_. Her partner, Peter Bishop, was already nudging her toward the sidewalk as he slipped his arms around the box, grunting with the barest effort.

'You do know I'm pregnant and not crippled, right?' she quipped, running a hand through long blond hair, if only to keep from smacking him in frustration.

'Both of which qualify you for your very own personal heavy lifters,' Peter replied, unaware or uncaring of her tone. 'Tell you what, though, I'll let you get the door.'

'Oh, you will, will you?'

'Well, you've got to earn your keep somehow, woman.'

'I have a gun.'

'And I am _never_ saying that again,' he avowed.

Olivia let out a gentle snort of laughter as she closed the trunk and locked the SUV. Peter had been like this for almost ten weeks now, ever since they were told of her condition.

At the thought, she absently pressed her fingers to her abdomen, a gesture became more and more automatic as time passed. She carried a sonograph picture of the baby in her pocket and was waiting for the right moment to show it to Peter.

Their daughter.

Whenever she stopped to reflect on it, she couldn't help marvel at everything that led them to this.

Four years ago, Olivia had been no more than a Special Agent with the FBI, desperately trying to find a cure for her then-partner. Peter had been a jack-of-all-trade whose activities were barely above the level of career criminal. They never would have met if she hadn't needed his help to access his father. Walter Bishop, the sole person with the knowledge to help her, had been rotting away in an asylum, his release conditional on Peter's presence.

At the time, she would never have foreseen her life turning out as it did. Some days it was easier to believe she had traversed alternate universes and battled shapeshifters than it was for her to comprehend the idea of life growing inside her.

Ever since their revelation of her pregnancy, it felt as if she was trapped in a whirlwind; which was odd because she hadn't even been working all that much.

Olivia's pregnancy had been low maintenance so far. No morning sickness or odd cravings, and or even a genetic disposition to Viral Propagated Eclampsia as she once feared. Her OB/GYN assured her everything was progressing as expected.

Life continued as normal while they looked for a new place to live – somewhere that Walter, who was finicky for routine, would approve of as well. There had been few incidents requiring the attention of Fringe Division since the debacle with William Bell and his attempt to create a new universe. As such, Olivia and Peter had taken the past two weeks off to move into their new home. The place remained cluttered with boxes that needed unpacking, but the most important furniture and belongings had been dealt with.

'Hey, Liv? Kind of falling down on the job here.'

She shook herself from her reflections and smiled at Peter, following him up the walk to their new flat. 'Sorry, just thinking.'

'Yeah? What a coincidence, me too,' he said, shifting his weight under the box as Olivia shuffled her keyring around for the house key. 'What, with this being the last box and all, we should probably celebrate.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah. I'm thinking maybe… Italian? Candlelight and non-alcoholic wine?'

'Is this you trying to be romantic?'

'Depends. How am I doing?'

'You had me up until the non-alcoholic wine part. That stuff's disgusting.'

'And considering I've seen you chug a flatworm shake, that's something.' Peter paused. 'You're not going to suddenly get cravings for that, are you? 'Cause I'm good with three a.m. ice cream runs, but I am definitely _not_ hunting up creepy crawlies for you.'

'I'm sure if that's ever an issue, Walter has me covered,' Olivia answered dryly.

'You're probably right,' Peter laughed. 'In fact, if –'

A sudden crashing noise inside interrupted him, and both of them froze.

With practised synchronicity, Olivia had her service weapon out of its holster and in hand, while Peter soundlessly rid himself of the box. Before he could give her the warning she knew was coming, she entered the flat, her firearm held in front of her.

She could hear Peter reaching for his phone, probably dialling 9-1-1 to tell them of an intruder in their home. Satisfied that the authorities were on their way, Olivia nudged open the door to the kitchen to confront the burglar.

Except there wasn't one.

Instead, she found with a colourful kind of pandemonium.

Every available surface was packed full of bottles, some open and others still sealed. Sitting in the middle of the floor, with several open containers and spoon in hand, was Peter's father.

'Walter? Seriously?' Peter groaned, thumb paused over the _call_ button. 'I figured you were still at the lab.'

'Oh, hello Peter. Olivia,' Dr Bishop greeted them mildly. 'Agent Farnsworth was kind enough to drive me home. While I waited for you both, I decided to ensure all the available infant nutrition options were both safe and gustatory. The baby should not be fed subpar mush.' He lowered his voice conspiratorially. 'So far, the strawberry is superior.'

· Φ ·

'It's a bit posh, innit?' Rose asked, uncertain.

She didn't miss the disapproving once-over the host gave them as she shrugged out of her winter coat. Judging from what the other patrons wore, her jeans and trainers weren't the dress code here.

'You're fine,' the Doctor told her as he finagled a table for them at the back of the room. It offered a nice view of the whole restaurant, and even more impressive, it was right beside the heater.

He surreptitiously brought out the sonic and buzzed it about. Rose opened her mouth to ask, but stopped when a wave of warmth flowed over her from the heater.

_Snow's nice to look at, and all, but once you lose feeling in your fingers, not so much_, she decided. _I'd just as soon see it from inside_.

'Just act like you own the place and no one will even notice,' the Doctor went on, grabbing a menu to examine.

_Easy for him to say, he never got tossed out of somewhere for looking too poor_.

It happened to her and her friends enough times that she dreaded that particular brand of embarrassment. The worst time had been the previous year when Mickey scraped together enough money for a nice dinner. They weren't asked to leave, but the contempt in the eyes of the other guests and hotel staff left a bad taste in her mouth. Even worse, Mickey apologized for days afterward despite it not being his fault.

_No, don't think about Mickey_, she coached herself, stomach swooping unpleasantly.

If there was anyone she wanted to contemplate less than Mickey right now, she couldn't name them.

The matter had been nagging her since she thought about it the night before, along with a myriad of thoughts she had barely processed. Ever since arriving in Boston, she had tried to keep her mind on anything else, to act as if everything was normal. Rose's subconscious obviously didn't want to listen to her.

She was late.

She was never late.

She was always painfully, agonizingly on schedule. Except for that one scare due to what the doctors identified as stress over her GCSE. Rose knew that couldn't be the case right now. Oh, she had been in stressful situations, sure, but they were always followed by a period of catharsis and the sense of a job well done.

So what other reason did she have for being late, except that she'd slept with Mickey a few days before meeting the Doctor? They had been careful – they always were – but clearly something had gone wrong, judging by the box in deep pockets of her parka that her hand kept wandering toward.

It felt like a brand.

She had bought it right before she and the Doctor arrived at the restaurant. They had passed a chemist and she made up a story about wanting to buy the chocolate-peanut butter cups in the window display.

'They don't have those back in London,' she wheedled. 'It'll be for dessert later.'

He'd shaken his head fondly, given her a wad of American money and waited for her outside. Because apparently walking through the local version of Boots was far too domestic for the exalted Time Lord.

She'd nipped in, bought the first test she could find and shoved the box into her voluminous pockets on her way out. She offered the Doctor some of her chocolate, laughed when he warned her about spoiling her dinner, and they'd been on their way.

The fact that she had lied to him made her feel sick.

_I'll pay him back once I get back on the TARDIS_, she resolved. There was a bit of money in her ref backpack, she could figure out how much it came to. Not that the Doctor actually cared about money, but she'd spent a whole pregnancy test's worth more than a bag of chocolate –

_Oh God, what if I am…?_

Rose picked nervously at the price tag still on the box.

She could just be jumping to conclusions.

She hoped she was just jumping to conclusions.

Otherwise, she was going to have to explain to Mickey how he had gotten her pregnant a year ago (in his timeline). Then she would have to figure out what the hell she as supposed to do about it.

'…of course, everyone looks silly in a lobster bib,' the Doctor was rambling, completely unaware of her inner turmoil. 'Human or not.'

He grinned at her expectantly, and she realized he was waiting for an answer.

Mentally grasping at the long speech she had turned out, she instead seized on his previous sentence. 'Thought you said I should get chowder?'

'And now I'm sayin' you should have the lobster as well.'

'Just how much d'you think I can eat? We haven't all got two stomachs like _someone_ I know.'

'Once you've tried the lobster, you're gonna wish you had,' he retorted and flagged down a waiter.

Crisis or not, Rose was hungry and so she let the Doctor order for both of them. At least if she threw up later, she could blame it on bad seafood and not…well, the alternative.

The appetisers and main course went without incident, although the Doctor did occasionally look around as if he was cataloguing the room. She had seen her neighbour Jason do that a lot since coming back from Iraq, and figured it was a soldier thing. The Doctor had be in a war, after all, so she didn't comment on it.

Instead, she prompted him for stories on his previous visits to America, genuinely cracking up as he regaled her with stories of meeting Benjamin Franklin ('Now, there's a man that knows how to take an electric shock!') and his brief friendship with Thomas Jefferson ('It wasn't until we were four paragraphs in to the first draft of the Declaration of Independence that I realized he was trying to pull me!').

The wait staff moved to and fro with the boundless energy you usually found in a restaurant during peak times. On a raised platform at the back of the room, a group of men and women in business suits were just opening their champagne. Beside them, a young couple huddled close together, hands clasped as they whispered intimately to each other. On the other side of the room, a family wrangled their kids together to leave, while a bald man in a suit moved his hat out of the way of his dinner.

'Alright, I admit it. This is gorgeous,' Rose said, polishing off a chew of bread dipped in the creamy white sauce. 'First time I've ever been glad I didn't go with chips.'

'You want a good plate of chips, next time you're peckish I'll bring you to Quebec in the fifties. Friend of mine invented this dish with chips and cheese curds that –'

The Doctor stopped talking abruptly, jaw clenching and eyes widening in something like surprise. Or discomfort.

'Doctor?'

Whether he would respond or not, she didn't find out, because there was a sudden clatter near them and a choking shriek.

The large dinner party at the back had suddenly erupted into a flurry of movement. Those at the table began shouting and crying. They scrambled for wine glasses and water pitchers, throwing aside plates and centrepieces in their haste. One of the men at the table staggered from his seat, careening into the nearest couple and snatching a glass of water from the horrified young woman.

'What's going on?' Rose asked, jumping to her feet.

'Oi!' the Doctor yelled. 'Someone stop that man!'

Her head whipped around to see what he was pointing at. The bald man from across the room was calmly watching the growing pandemonium without the least bit of bother. With a casual, deliberate movement he put his hat on and stood to leave the restaurant.

The Doctor's directive went ignored in the wake of another scream piercing the din, this time from another patron sitting by the frantic dinner party. The panicking diners now began to gasp and seize, their bodies riddled with convulsions.

'Stay here, see if you can help,' the Doctor ordered as he took off after the mysterious man. 'I'll be back!'

Rose gaped at his retreating back for half a second before throwing herself into action. She had no idea what she was supposed to do or what he was doing, but two weeks together had taught her to go along with even the most inexplicable behaviour.

She stumbled toward the table on the platform, dodging other diners doing the exact opposite. Everyone else wanted to put as much space between them and whatever was going on, and she understood the sentiment.

The situation was rapidly going from bad to outright horrifying, as the victims of – whatever was going on – began gasping and clutching their throats. Several already lay on the floor twitching and there was something happening to their bodies. They appeared to be shrinking somehow.

_No, not shrinking_, Rose realized as she leapt up the stairs. _Shrivelling._

The men and women that had once been so lively were now grey-skinned and wrinkled, their eyes now too prominent in faces that resembled skulls with skin stretched over them. Some were beginning to lose their hair and teeth, while others had loose clothing falling off of them.

The people were becoming living skeletons before her eyes.

Rose tried desperately to remember her basic first aid, or anything she had seen on television that might help, but she couldn't call up anything. Chest compressions, tourniquets, the Heimlich manoeuvre – none of that applied to this!

So she did the only thing she could do, hurrying past them and yanking the lever down on the red emergency alarm. She might not be able to help, but there had to be someone in a hospital somewhere who could. The alarm would be faster than her mobile, even with the Doctor's modifications.

The shrill, ringing wail of the fire alarm barely cut through the din; moaning shrieks from the victims and terrified yells from other diners still desperate the flee the restaurant.

The dinner party was almost all collapsed on the floor and the table now. One of the afflicted diners closest to her was still frantically trying to drag himself along, reaching for a half-full pitcher lying on its side.

Rose darted forward and helped to push the pitcher into his hand. He was too weak to bring it to his lips, and so she helped him. To her surprise, once she put it in his hands, he upended the whole thing over himself, desperate to catch some water in his mouth. She watched it go up his nose as well, and his spluttering got worse.

'Stop! Slow down – you'll drown yourself –!' she gasped, but the man ignored her. His wide, hollow eyes gazed up at her in a silent, scared plea and his hand wrapped around her wrist.

She jerked back reflexively at the grasp, but he tightened his grip. She watched as his fingers rapidly became more bonelike, the skin like paper and the tips locking together as muscle shrunk and dissolved.

'Let go!' she ordered. When nothing happened but the skeleton man's eyes going blank in death, she tried to pull away.

To her horror and disgust, the arm came away with the forcefulness of her movement, detaching at the elbow joint. There wasn't any blood, just a sticky, gooey substance that dripped onto the floor and her.

She couldn't help her own scream now, as she shook off the appendage and backed away on heels and elbows.

The man was still now, his jaw twisted into an agonizing silent scream and his shrivelled eyes set reproachfully upon her. Like him, the rest of the dinner party was dead and desiccated.

Rose tried to stay in control. She had seen some rather unbelievable things in the two weeks of travelling with the Doctor, things she had managed to process despite how unnatural they were to her way of thinking.

This was too much.

Before she could stop herself, she was on her hands and knees being sick all over the floor.

Sound and sight vanished for a moment with the burn of bile in her throat, and she only came back to herself when she felt a slow pat to her back. A familiar voice was speaking to her in a soothing tone, bringing her back to herself.

When she'd finished, she slowly looked up again.

'Sorry,' she gasped, pulling away from the vomit on the floor and looking up at the Doctor.

'No need to apologize for being sick,' he returned gruffly, eyes on the macabre tableau before them. 'That'd turn stronger stomachs than yours.'

'No…not for that,' she hedged, swallowing the sour taste in her mouth; she wasn't sure she wanted to try drinking anything right now after what she'd just seen. 'I just…I couldn't do anything to help.'

Now the Doctor focussed directly on her, his expression softening.

'Not everyone can be saved all the time, Rose,' he told her sadly. 'Even someone with advanced medical training from the future couldn't've saved them. There wasn't time, once things were set in motion.'

'Even for you?' she asked quietly.

'Even for me. It's why I tried to go after the bloke that did it.'

'You think someone did this on _purpose_?'

'I do. There was a man. Don't know if you saw him, but he felt…off. Like he wasn't from this time.'

'Did you get him?'

'No,' the Doctors expression darkened. 'He got away, probably with some kind of technology. Definitely not from this era, by the evidence.'

Rose's eyes darted to the dead bodies again and she tried to get past the gruesomeness of it. 'What exactly did he do?'

In answer, the Doctor pointed the sonic at the table of corpses and scanned them. 'Dehydration, looks like.'

'But they – they were all drinking,' Rose protested. 'Every one of them emptied their glass or was trying to drink it down. I saw it!'

'Their bodies were already compromised by then. Whatever dried them out, was doing so faster than they could replenish their liquid levels.'

'What could do that?'

'No idea,' he admitted, and his expression turned hard. It made her shiver. 'But you and I are going to find out.'

· ΘΣ ·

If Peter hadn't known for a fact that the universe considered him to be a non-entity, he might think that someone was conspiring against him.

Instead of a romantic candlelit dinner at the Italian bistro he'd made reservations at, Peter found himself helping Walter cleaning up the kitchen. Which, of course, translated to him cleaning up everything himself when his father lost interest and went to hunt down his _Beatles_ collection.

Apparently eating strawberry puree had put Walter in a nostalgic mood.

Olivia had started helping with the clean-up, but a phone call from her sister effectively excused her from the job. Not that Peter was about to grudge her that. As far as he was concerned, she was incubating a tiny human inside of her – _his_ tiny human – and he'd do his damnedest to make sure she had the least amount of additional stress in her life.

Considering their job, he had his work cut out for him.

It was ten weeks now since they had manage to foil William Bell's megalomaniac attempt to collapse two universes. Ten weeks since he'd watched his father shoot Olivia in the head at point blank, and for her to miraculously open her eyes seconds later. Ten weeks since she'd looked up at him with disbelief and joy and trepidation and told him she was pregnant.

Coincidentally, it was about ten weeks now that he stopped being able to sleep through the night.

And now Walter, whose episodes had been manageable for the past year, suddenly decided to start acting out again.

'He's probably just worried.'

Peter jumped, nearly knocking the last of the puree bottles off the counter as Olivia entered the kitchen, cordless phone in hand.

'Huh?'

'Walter,' she clarified, setting the phone back in its cradle. 'You've got that concerned look on. Only happens when you're trying to figure out your father. Relax. I'm sure he's just worried.'

'When isn't he?' Peter grumbled. 'It's just usually when he's worried, he's too busy building tinfoil hats to max out my credit card on organic mush that I don't see us actually feeding our kid.'

'Yeah, but it's a bit different now, Peter. Things are _going_ to be different, and we both know he's not exactly good with that kind of thing,' she pointed out. 'He's probably overthinking how his life is going to change when the baby comes.'

'Point,' Peter sighed.

'You should talk to him. Make sure he knows everything important is going to stay the same as it was.'

'Yeah, instead of keeping an eye out for one baby we'll have two.'

The familiar chime of Olivia's cell phone cut off anything she had to say to that.

'Dunham,' she answered, turning away from him.

He spent a minute considering whether he should go speak to Walter now, but then he noticed the subtle tension in Olivia's shoulders and she suddenly barked, '_What_ happened to them?'

She whirled around to face him, and he saw that her expression had morphed from that of the concerned, sympathetic woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with into the guarded FBI Agent that first tracked him down in Iraq. 'Where? Alright, we'll be there in fifteen minutes.'

She snapped her phone closed and shot him a grim look.

'I'm guessing the vacation's over?' Peter offered lightly.

'Looks like.'

'What's the case?'

'Restaurant downtown. A dinner party suddenly turned into mummies in the middle of drinks.'

'Sounds delicious.' He paused. 'Liv, are you sure you should –?'

She was already shrugging into her coat. 'I'll go start the car.'

Peter sighed. 'I'll go get Walter.'

· Φ ·


	2. Chapter Two

**AN: For the record, I failed anything to do with science when I was in school, so any of the smart science babble stuff? I totally stole that from my favourite tv shows. I only hope I haven't completely messed up in a way that insults a bunch of biology/science aficionados.**

* * *

_'I tolerate this century, but I don't enjoy it.'_

* * *

'I'm just saying, it's time, is all,' Peter protested in what was turning out to be a losing argument. The car slowed to a halt outside of the downtown seafood restaurant he and Olivia had been called to. Outside the window, he could see the familiar and telltale signs of flashing lights and yellow police tape. 'You said you'd think about it once we got settled.'

'And I still am,' Olivia answered as she checked the rear view mirror and parked the SUV. 'We've still got time.'

'Cutting it kind of close, aren't we? Just because you're not showing –'

'For the record, my mother didn't start showing until she was five months in?' Olivia interrupted. 'Rachel either.'

'Yeah, that's great for them. Normally, I'd say it's great for you too, but neither of them dealt with the stuff we see on a daily basis. Plus, we don't know if there'll be any complications because of the Cortexiphan. Honestly, I'm surprised Broyles hasn't put you on desk duty before this.'

'I'm sure he would have, if I'd told him,' his partner replied as she opened the driver's door and swung herself out of it.

Peter blinked as the implications caught up with him and hurried to undo his seatbelt. 'Wait, what? What do you mean? You didn't – you didn't tell him?!' Not receiving a response, he turned to the third passenger who had been humming silently in the back the whole time. 'She didn't tell him.'

'Hm?' his father wondered.

'Never mind.'

Peter heaved himself from the car and automatically moved to help Walter out as well. After ensuring his father's trousers were done up properly and that he wasn't about to go on a walkabout in the wrong direction, they headed after Olivia.

The street was bathed in the flashing blue and red light of the emergency vehicles around the restaurant. All around, clusters of people huddled in small groups while authorities scurried around them. Some people sat in the back of ambulances, while others converged around uniformed officers.

No doubt former diners giving their statements.

Peter hurried his pace a little, catching up to his partner while still making sure Walter was following them.

'What do you mean, you haven't told him? Don't you think you should?' he prompted, trying not to sound like a nag but more reasonable. Olivia responded better to reasonable.

Usually.

'Peter, there wasn't a point until now,' Olivia answered, sounding irritated. 'If Walter and Astrid didn't find out when we did, I wouldn't have told either of them until the danger passed. I told you when we first found out that I'm predisposed to VPE.'

'Yeah, and, the doctors cleared you today, right? I mean, that's what the appointment was all about.'

Olivia sighed. 'Yes, we're clear. But that doesn't mean I'm going to go sit on my butt for the next six months. Can you see me doing that?'

Peter opened his mouth, ready to tell her he would learn to see her do that, but they'd reached the entrance of the restaurant.

She held up a hand, her message clear: work now, baby business later.

He knew better than to argue.

They found the centre of the restaurant, where Broyles waited for them. Several yards away Peter got his first look at the reason for their interrupted dinner plans.

The scene itself was a mess, and Peter felt bit of bile rise at the back of his throat. He'd developed a strong stomach over the years, and this wasn't the first time he'd seen a desiccated body. Hell, he'd witnessed back-alley charlatans in Egypt mummify stolen corpses and sell them to tourists as souvenirs.

Something about this display made him cringe.

It wasn't like with amber where the people trapped in it either didn't realise what was happening or were too busy coughing to panic. These people had known they were dying and hadn't been able to do a thing. In a way, it reminded him of the series of murders perpetrated by Alfred Hoffman – mass suffocation of a specific group of people based on pre-selected genetic traits.

A dozen bodies awaited inspection, all petrified in the various distressed states of their last moment. All were so severely desiccated it seemed as if someone had posed a series of lab skeletons in a macabre imitation of The Last Supper. Their wasted faces, with skin hanging off like a too-big sweater, remained twisted in agony.

_Though that could be because the ligaments in their jaws have completely disintegrated, _he thought.

It only distantly resembled the photos he had seen of the Flight 672 victims and what he remembered of the comatose, rapidly degenerating John Scott. In those cases, it had been precipitous skin decay. Here, it seemed to be the opposite – all the victims still retained their skin, but everything underneath it had shrivelled into almost nonexistence.

The corpses also gave off an odour like baking sewage and raw fish.

_And it's really disturbing that I know that's not what decaying bodies are supposed to smell like._

As usual, Olivia didn't seem fazed by it all, which was a bit ironic. She'd been waking him up before dawn for weeks now with morning sickness.

_Decayed corpses don't bother her, but a two inch long not-even-a-baby-yet has her with her head in the toilet. Hell of a woman I've attached myself to._

Out loud, he joked, 'See, that right there? That should make you sick.'

'What've we got?' Olivia asked Broyles, concerned with the case.

'It seems all the victims had the moisture sucked out of them. No one can figure out how. It's especially mystifying considering every witness states the victims spent their last moments trying to imbibe as much fluid as they could.'

'They chose… poorly,' Peter murmured under his breath, trying to keep things light while watching Walter hovered in the background, sniffing the air.

'Witnesses?' Olivia prompted.

'Mostly being questioned outside. But that's not where this gets complicated.'

'Because instant mummies aren't complicated?' Peter quipped.

Broyles shot him one of his usual unimpressed frowns. 'Because the FBI wasn't first on the scene. There's something you should know about the two main witnesses.'

Broyles nodded off to the side, where a tall man with a buzz-cut and wearing a leather jacket was examining one body. He kept pointing things out to the blond beside him – Christ, she couldn't have been out of high school yet! – who looked like she belonged anywhere but a crime scene.

Olivia seemed to be thinking along the same lines, her eyes lingering on the girl's jeans and hoodie with a frown, because she asked, 'Why are they still here?'

'Because they have the clearance to be here.'

If Peter's eyebrows hadn't been raised before, now he felt they were in danger of disappearing into his hair. '_They_ have clearance?'

'Their credentials check out,' Broyles responded neutrally. 'Dr Smith there is a CIA consultant, but he's been granted the highest levels of access among both our agencies for this particular case. Rare, but there's precedent.'

'And the kid?' Peter asked, looking at her watching uncertainly.

'She's his intern. Rose Tyler, grad student at Cambridge University.'

'Pah! _Cambridge_,' Walter muttered under his breath.

'I don't understand – what's their interest in this?' Olivia questioned. 'This isn't really CIA jurisdiction – they barely get involved with us. Is there a possible terrorist threat, or overseas ramifications on this one?' She considered the corpses again. 'One of theirs involved, maybe?'

'It's the CIA,' Broyles said darkly. 'They're keeping it all need-to-know. And as much trouble as you'll have with that, I'm ordering you to keep things civil on this one, Dunham. If only for the sake of interagency cooperation.'

· Φ ·

'We're so getting arrested for this one,' Rose whispered, hovering nervously over the Doctor as he crouched by one of the bodies.

Although she had gotten used to the psychic paper and the many doors it opened (sometimes in the literal sense), she couldn't help a sense of unease right then. So far the Doctor had only used the paper to legitimise little white lies that no one bothered to check up anyhow.

This time, the story it had made up took her breath away at its brazenness.

'What's wrong?' the Doctor asked, unaware or uncaring that the brusque FBI Agent named Broyles was pointing them out to three other people Rose bet were also FBI.

'Oh, you mean except for you telling them I'm some kind of… brilliant uni student?' Rose hissed back. Her assumed cover story bothered her almost as much as being mistaken for a prostitute by a talking tree. 'How the hell am I supposed to fake that?'

'You don't need to fake it – you already seem frazzled. Students are always stressed, aren't they? Maybe mix in a little pretentiousness and keep asking for coffee.'

'Oh, that's all?!'

'What else is there?' He looked like he genuinely didn't get it. 'You're already brilliant, and that's the important thing.'

And, really, there was nothing to say to that. Which made her a little angrier at him because he was always doing that! One moment being caustic and insulting, the next giving her little heart-warming comments with the sincerity of someone believing they were just pointing out simple, truthful fact.

'Anyway, I wasn't talking about that,' he continued. 'You've been a bit off all night. Most of the day, really. Something's wrong.'

'Oh, now is _definitely_ not the time,' she told him, her cheeks heating up in embarrassment. As if she was going to talk to him about that here! Now! With him!

'But –?'

'Oh, shut up, I've got to pretend to be brilliant,' she grumbled with a scowl, and jerked her head in the direction of the bodies. She didn't want to pay direct attention to them unless she had to. 'Now tell me everything I need to know about _that_ so I don't look like a right moppet in front of this lot.'

She threw herself into appearing like she was examining the crime scene, and thankfully he dropped it.

It didn't change her unease with the situation.

She was completely out of her depth. How was she supposed to fake being some amazingly smart university student when she'd barely gotten her GCSEs? More important than that, how was she supposed to fake that in front of the FBI?

_Aren't they trained to pick liars out of a crowd?_

She wanted to throw up again, but this time it had nothing to do with dead bodies or the… _other_ thing.

The nausea got worse when Broyles' three colleagues wandered over.

'Just pretend like you own the place,' the Doctor told her, then straightened up and strode toward the approaching suits with his usual manic grin. 'Hello! Doctor John Smith – forensic pathologist on retainer with the CIA.' The daft man had even managed to scare up an American accent to go along with his ruse! 'This is Rose Tyler, my intern.'

As before, when he'd first shown the paper to Broyles, Rose's heart felt like it was in danger of climbing up her throat and choking her.

The intense looking blond woman scowled at the paper for a full minute longer than Broyles had.

'Dr Smith, Miss Tyler – I'm Agent Olivia Dunham,' she introduced. 'I'm the lead on this case. This is Peter Bishop –' She indicated the dark-haired man who smiled a wry greeting, '– and Dr Walter Bishop.'

The third person was an older man that looked a bit like Rose's Grandad Prentice. Unlike her grandfather, who had been sharp as a whip right up until his death, Dr Bishop didn't seem like he was completely _there_. He had a noticeable resemblance to the younger man, though, and Rose supposed they must be related. Father and son, most likely.

'Walter Bishop?' the Doctor repeated, frowning thoughtfully at something only he could see. 'Bishop… Bishop… why do I know that name?'

_He's having another Harriet Jones moment, I bet_, Rose recognised.

Agent Dunham and the younger Bishop exchanged looks that seemed almost wary, before the Doctor let out a jubilant laugh.

'Hah! 1973! You wrote an article in that journal – can't remember the name, but the write-up was brilliant! You scientifically proved breakfast was the most important meal of the day.'

Dr. Bishop blinked, looking surprised and cautiously pleased. 'Oh…well, yes. I didn't think anyone had actually read that.'

'Why wouldn't they? Your bit on bananas being a staple of the potassium hierarchy? Fantastic! Mind you, that bit about creating a tolerance to lysergic acid diethylamid in children was a bit much, but other than that it's one of my favourite articles. Keep it in the library next to –'

Agent Dunham and Mr Bishop's expressions had turned disbelieving, and Rose decided it was time to step in before the Doctor slipped back into his Northern accent in his enthusiasm. 'Er, Doctor, s'now the time?'

He looked away from Dr Bishop, who he'd been sharing a grin with, and considered their surroundings. His expression became grim as he caught sight of the corpses again. Rose was doing her best _not_ to look at them.

'Good point, Rose. Mustn't get off topic.'

'Have you seen anything like this before?' Agent Dunham wanted to know, her sharp eyes blatantly studying both of them.

_Don't think she's really buying the CIA thing,_ Rose realized with a sinking stomach and scrambled to think of something she could say that wouldn't sound like a dumb teenager.

'Depends on what you mean,' the Doctor answered easily. 'Weird, unexplained events? Oh, yeah, loads – you couldn't even imagine. Rapid shrinkage of vital organs beneath the epidermis? Not so much.'

'How unexplained?' Dunham asked neutrally.

'What my partner means, is, are you in any way familiar with the field of fringe sciences?' Mr Bishop spoke up, looking as exasperated with the woman as Rose felt with the Doctor.

'Enough to know most people in this time still consider it no more than a pseudoscience,' the Doctor answered. 'But we've had our experiences with that, haven't we, Rose? Allotransplantation, living calcium…'

His tone of voice indicated he expected her to chime in at any time, and as her thoughts raced. She had no idea what allotransplantation was, but she knew he was talking about the Slitheen when he mentioned the living calcium. She thought back on some of the things she'd seen since meeting him.

'Thought control,' she suggested, remembering what he'd said about the Autons. 'Oh, and walking corpses…'

He winked at her covertly, and she felt the corner of her mouth twitch upward despite the seriousness of the situation.

'Thought control?' Dr Bishop spoke up eagerly. 'An isolated incident, or over a larger demographic?'

'Oh, pretty large demographic,' the Doctor chatted. 'All of London was affected for a few minutes.'

'Fascinating!' Dr Bishop murmured. 'The relay transmitting the control signal must have been massive, though.'

'It was the London Eye,' Rose explained, and this time she did grin at the Doctor. He offered her a mock frown, apparently sensing she was remembering his obliviousness the night of they encountered the Nestene Consciousness.

'I'm surprised the CIA hasn't sent more than the two of you,' Dunham interjected, bringing the discussion back to the present. 'Usually your people have the area cleaned and dealt with before you even think about reading us in.'

'Well, it started out rather unofficial, didn't it?' the Doctor answered effortlessly. 'Rose and I were only having dinner at the time of the event, so it's no surprise the paper-pushers haven't caught up yet. Only just got the okay to step in on this before you arrived. I'm sure they'll send over more personnel in a day or so.'

Rose could read the subtext there: the Doctor didn't intend for this to take longer than a day.

She hoped he was right.

· ΘΣ ·

Even before meeting them, Olivia decided that there was something a bit off about Smith and Tyler.

There wasn't anything specifically untrustworthy about either one, but she had been fooled before. Her heart still ached when she thought of the shapeshifter that had pretended to be her friend Charlie for several weeks. The conversation with his widow was one which haunted her dreams even years later.

The Tyler girl looked like she should be at a pop-concert, not standing in the middle of a crime scene. As for Smith… he didn't handle himself like any Central Intelligence Agent she had ever met or worked with.

He seemed unassuming enough upon first glance, perhaps a bit eccentric if his style of clothing was any indication. There was also a presence to him that didn't quite fit the image he projected. It crackled in his every movement, and Olivia could feel it even standing a few feet away from him. His intensity only dimmed somewhat when he looked at his partner. From the soft and affectionate nature of those glances, she suspected their relationship was more personal than professional.

_A mid-life crisis on Smith's part_? Olivia mused and then forced her attention back to the crime scene. _Not important right now._

She forced herself to follow the proper procedure, getting Smith and Tyler's statements and then excusing herself to get the accounts from the FBI agents that had arrived first. Oddly enough, Smith and Tyler left her alone to conduct these interviews; it was odd, considering there was usually an interdepartmental pissing match over priority when the FBI and CIA got together.

She finished going through the usual line of questioning with everyone on her list while Peter backed her up. They ended their interrogations with the maître d' of the restaurant, looking for any last minute clues that might offer motive.

'Did they mention anything? Perhaps when they were making the reservations?' Olivia questioned.

The befuddled man's head shook from side to side. 'Nothing of importance, not that I remember. I think they were celebrating a merger of their two companies.'

'Do you know the names of those companies?'

'No,' the man answered apologetically. 'I think I heard one of the guests mentioned energy bars when I seated them?'

'Hey, Liv?' Pete spoke up. He had fallen behind and was fiddling with his phone. 'I've got something.'

He held up the device to show her a picture of an aloof man in his fifties.

'And this is?'

'Mummy number seven,' Peter answered, pointing to the head of the table to one of the most desiccated of the corpses. 'Also known as Dr Melvin Farkas, the head of BW Pharmaceuticals. Someone just leaked his death online, and it's making the rounds of the usual social media sites.'

'Get Astrid to try to track down who made the original post,' Olivia said, taking the phone and examining the photo. 'We need to find out if anyone might have wanted Farkas dead, or had issues with his business.'

'The easier question would be who didn't,' Peter answered. 'The company's practically known for the amount of ethics violations it's skirted by, which makes it really strange that an energy bar company would be wanting a merger. With a reputation like that…'

'All the same, in case that doesn't pan out, we need to compile a list of all the victims and find out if they had any enemies,' Olivia determined. 'Keep an eye out for any individuals or organisations who might have had it in for any of the people who died.'

'And anyone who might've had access to the Ark of the Covenant,' Peter added.

'Friend of mine won that in a game of gin rummy.' Olivia jumped as Smith seemed to appear from nowhere. 'Also, that's pretty close to what actually happened to them.'

Peter snorted. 'Really?'

'Yep. Had their liquid bits drain right out of them – or, well, evaporate, really.' He gestured back to the corpses. 'They were all drinking, right? Some of them even have liquid still in their lungs from trying to chug it down. And I can't show you without an autopsy, but no doubt when we check the pulmonary veins you'll find they're filled with collapsed platelets.'

'Indicative of dehydration,' Walter declared, also popping up as if from nowhere. 'I'd like to further examine the bodies back at the lab. I require a microscope to be sure, but there might be traces of foreign bacteria within what remains of their digestive systems. Those could offer clues to exactly what happened.' He started taking out several tools he used for taking tissue samples. 'If we can culture them, we might know for sure…'

'So what caused it?' Olivia asked, a bit of a challenge to Smith.

'Could've been a lot of things,' he admitted. 'Deployed in a gas form –'

'Yeah, but that would've gotten all of us, too,' the British girl chimed in. 'And we're not all… corpsified.'

_Is that a technical term, _Olivia wondered vaguely as Smith offered the girl something like a proud look.

'True,' he agreed. 'Maybe whoever did this added something to a specific dish. Easy to drop something in powder form into a soup, though that's a bit Jonestown for such a public place.'

'And everyone had different things to eat.'

'Exactly.'

'Could there be some other factor, like shared genetic traits?' Peter spoke up. 'We worked a case like that a few years ago.'

'Possible, but unlikely, given the presence of cleft chins in three of the victims and what looks like heterochromia on that one woman,' Walter spoke up. 'I can't be sure, most of her eyeball's shrivelled to the size of a raisin, but I would say the probability is high.'

Smith nodded, like he had expected this. 'That said, I think it's best to ascribe the KISS principle on this one. Obviously it was something they all drank.'

'That's right, they were celebrating something,' Tyler recalled suddenly. 'All of them would've had at least a sip, right?'

_She's at least observant_, Olivia decided. _Still running a check on them both later._

Walter whirled around to stare at them then, an excited and thoughtful expression on his face. 'Perhaps it was the catalyst – the trigger of whatever did this.'

'Alcohol does interfere with the mechanism that regulates the water levels in the human body,' the Smith agreed.

'Aren't restaurants usually really careful with their alcohol, though?' Tyler was asking, examining the upturned bottle that had fallen from the table. 'They wouldn't serve something that'd been opened.'

Olivia's toe nudge something, and she bent down to inspect it. It was the cork from the bottle of champagne.

'How was it poisoned if it was sealed?' Tyler went on.

'Injected via syringe through the seal,' Olivia answered as she scrutinised the top of the stopper and then the bottom. There was a pinprick sized hole in the cork. 'Then they melted it back into place.'

'Okay, _how_ did you know that?' Peter wanted to know, sounding a bit impressed.

Olivia offered him a bit of a grin. 'Saw it in a movie.'

'Doesn't mean it's not possible,' Smith pointed out. 'Even probable, I'd say. Bet if you got someone to snoop around back there, you'd even find the syringe.'

'Only a few people would've had access to the wine cellar, and if the champagne was specifically requested we might be able to find out who handled it. At the very least we'll find out who their server was.' Olivia directed her next question at Smith. 'You didn't happen to notice their waiter, did you?'

'Nope. Wasn't facing their table.'

She sent Tyler a questioning stare, but the girl shook her head. 'Bit busy eating at the time. We didn't even realise there was anything we should be paying attention to until… well, until it happened.'

Olivia was about to question this – the CIA weren't in the habit of employing the unobservant – when she noticed something flicker across Smith's face.

'So, you didn't see anything at all?' she pressed, trying to catch his gaze. 'No one suspicious hanging around, or…?'

She let the question hang, curious as to whether he would actually answer it or avoid it.

Despite his manic grin and seemingly cheerful disposition, she fully expected the latter. Smith was hiding something, and she doubted it had anything to do with any agency procedure or confidential information.

_The question is… what doesn't' he want to talk about?_

· Φ ·

The Doctor didn't, as a general rule, trust secret government organisations. It didn't matter if they were human, alien, past or present. They did all sorts of secretive and dangerous things, usually for money, or worse, in the name of national security.

Under normal circumstances, keeping information from anyone wearing a white hat and calling themselves an authority was his prerogative. No question, need-to-know, _it's for your own good, now stay out of the way while I save your world._

But in this case, the Doctor couldn't help hesitate.

The bald man he had seen was a calculated murderer at best, and a dangerous temporal anomaly at worst. Either way he would stay and track him down, but if it was the latter case…

Well, that put it under the Doctor's jurisdiction, to borrow the contemporary jargon.

_Add it to the list of thing I need to deal with since the War_, he thought ruefully, _and definitely over the heads of some trite little human organisation._

On the other hand, this "Fringe Division", as Agent Broyles had called it, clearly had some kind of exposure to events beyond the norm. It was possible they could shed light on the situation and save him time and effort. He didn't have the patience or the inclination to investigate the matter from the drawing board.

He levelled with them.

'There was one diner that wasn't acting as you'd expect,' he told them. 'A group of people start screaming, usually everyone panics. Him, he gets up cool as you please and saunters out of the place like nothing's happened.'

'What'd he look like?' Agent Dunham demanded.

'Completely bald,' the Doctor said, and watched as Dunham and the two Bishops suddenly tensed. _What have we here? _'Carried a briefcase, wore a suit and hat – but didn't seem especially cold despite the temperature. And the bugger could move. I went after him but he disappeared.'

Which also added a tally in the _temporal anomaly_ category because the Doctor was much faster than the average human. Which meant the mystery man was as well.

'You went after him?' the younger Bishop exclaimed.

'You didn't mention that before,' Dunham pointed out. She sounded a bit accusing.

'Figured you'd see it all on whatever security cameras you've no doubt seized,' the Doctor shrugged. 'Anyhow, who is he?'

'How would we know?' the young man asked quickly.

'Because you're all acting like I mentioned some horrible family secret when I brought him up,' the Doctor said. His voice dropped, and he warned them, 'If this man had anything to do with what went on here tonight, you need to tell me right now. I won't allow this to happen again.'

Dunham met his gaze for several seconds and then looked away.

'I'll have the security feeds brought to me to be sure. But if this was the person I think you're talking about, I don't think he was responsible for this attack,' she said finally. 'It doesn't match him MO.'

'What do you mean?' the Doctor demanded. 'You do know him?'

'Sort of. He's shown up at a few of our crime scenes, but there's never anything to tie him to them.'

'And _you_ didn't bother to mention _that_?' Rose piped up, sounding as annoyed as the Doctor felt.

'He wasn't the one responsible for what happened here,' Dunham insisted.

'How can you be sure?'

'Because of his pattern of behaviour. He shows up at what he maintains are significant events, but he doesn't interfere.'

'Well, sometimes he does,' the younger Bishop pointed out, exchanging meaningful looks with his father. 'But those times usually end up helping us. In a roundabout, really obscure way.'

'And no one's tried to, I dunno, find out more about him? Oh, of course not, no doubt for some bureaucratic bit of nonsense or useless reasons such as diplomatic immunity,' the Doctor snapped.

Honestly, weren't these people supposed to be the government! He was used to a better class of governmental ineptitude.

'Hey, pal, we've found out plenty –'

'Anything else, you'll have to wait until the rest of your paper work comes through,' Dunham interrupted her partner, pursing her lips at the Doctor. Apparently she was putting her foot down. 'And you, Dr Smith, if you've finished your preliminary investigation, maybe you and your… partner should get back to your agency and debrief them.'

The Doctor glared at her, opening his mouth to tell her how much he didn't give a damn about paper work, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

Rose's fingers tightened around his bicep, eyes darting from his face to that of Agent Dunham. She was radiating anxiety again, and he supposed she had good reason. Getting exposed right now would help no one and would waste time.

He nodded tersely and stepped back from the FBI agents.

'My agency will definitely hear about this,' he confirmed, voice dark with promise. 'Trust me when I say this matter is going straight to the highest authority.'

· ΘΣ ·


	3. Chapter Three

_'I tolerate this century, but I don't enjoy it.'_

* * *

Relations devolved a bit after that. There was nothing for it but for the Doctor and Rose to leave the crime scene.

As they ventured back out into the cold night, the Doctor's mind flitted angrily from one idea to the next.

If the mysterious man made a point of showing up in their cases, why hadn't the Fringe Division tried to stop him? Or was he simply a person of interest they couldn't pin down due to some human nonsense like circumstantial evidence?

If the man wasn't directly involved with them, how did he know when an event was significant enough to witness? Did he have some kind of technology to predict it? Or perhaps knowledge of future events.

Either one would be problematic.

The Doctor was so preoccupied with his ruminations that at first he didn't notice Rose jogging to keep up. It was only when he paused at a crosswalk that she caught up with him, determinedly hooking one arm through his.

'What are you thinking?' she demanded, eyes searching him intently.

He sighed. 'Now there's a hole with no bottom…'

'You're upset,' she stated. 'Something about the bald man you saw. The one who… watches things happen?'

'Mm.'

'Have you ever heard of anything like that before?'

'Yep. Time Lords. Sounds exactly like their sort of behaviour,' he told her. The usual lump that appeared in his throat whenever he spoke about his people had been threatening all night. As he voiced his thoughts, it seemed to get worse. '"Observe but never interfere". Except I know it's completely impossible for it to be another Time Lord – the sonic's set to pick up any TARDIS frequency other than my own.'

He was careful to keep his tone completely detached and clinical as he explained it.

The light changed, and they continued on their way back to the ship, although this time he slowed his pace so that she could keep up.

'So what else would it be?'

'Oh, plenty of things that go bump in the night like to show up and witness human history. Can't imagine why,' he winked at her and she grinned. Then he turned serious. 'But a species with time travel capability, and enough of a temporal sense to know when events are significant? And telepathic to boot?'

'He was telepathic?' her eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into her hairline.

Right. He hadn't told her that part yet. Everything had happened so quickly and then the authorities had shown up, there had never been a good time.

Despite his lighthearted conversation at dinner, he had been staunchly vigilant. Before perceiving the man, the niggling sense of something being wrong had refused to abate. Even the sonic had suggested there was something amiss, but would not give him a sign of what.

And then he had felt it – that sense of something or someone brushing his mind. It was so skillfully done that he might not have noticed it if he mental senses weren't still so raw. As much as he was able to, he followed the mental signature back to its origin: the bald man. The stranger had been staring at the Doctor, head tilted as if in puzzlement. As if he was trying to figure out what the Doctor was as well.

'Yeah,' he answered. 'Was trying to get a read on me before the world went mad.' He frowned. 'Point is, there aren't that many telepathic species with temporal senses or the technology to travel through time. In fact, I can only think of three.'

'And it's not any of those?'

'Nope. Not enough hair to be a Tharil, doesn't look like a Dantean demon, so it can't be a Hunter and I dealt with the Vist centuries back.'

'So it's something you never encountered then.'

'So it's something that might not have existed before,' he corrected grimly. 'If there was anything like that out there, my people would've dealt with it long ago. Along with any others of its kind.'

'Why?'

'Lower species aren't equipped to travel through time and observe without interacting in some way. They're just too susceptible to elementary principles – things you lot call Chaos Theory or the Observer Effect – however objective their intentions start off,' he explained. 'You remember the vitavore,'

'Not likely to forget anytime soon,' Rose shuddered.

'The only species that ever came close to being the exception to those principles were Time Lords – and even that exception had exceptions. Like me.'

He had no reference point for this mysterious watcher, meaning he didn't know what harm dealing with them or not would do to the space-time continuum. His temporal eye was still clouded, too, which meant he couldn't investigate it that way.

Upon reaching the TARDIS and ducking inside, the Doctor caught Rose yawning and suggested gently, 'Maybe time for a kip?'

'Yeah, just a short one,' she agreed, uncharacteristically game. He held back a comment. Usually Rose was rather dogged in helping him figure out a problem, but suddenly she'd rather sleep?

He considered asking her about it, but she was already on her way out of the console room.

With a shrug, he decided that if it wasn't important enough for her to tell him about now, it could wait until they had sorted out the mysterious bald man.

'And on that note…' he murmured to himself.

He strode over to the TARDIS console and began searching the mainframe for any species that conformed to the characteristics of the anomaly.

He found nothing.

He thought back to what Agent Dunham had said about the man showing up to significant events and decided to take a different angle. He set up a search looking for any mention of the restaurant disaster he and Rose had witnessed. Then he added a second subset of data to account for any other odd disasters that might have happened within the past fifty years.

The TARDIS hummed at him in something like caution, but he ignored her as he considered the pictures and articles that flew across the screen.

Articles, taken from both reputable and unreliable sources, detailed horrific and impossible (to humans, anyhow) events happening all over the area for decades. They became more numerous in the last five years, he noted, eyes skimming individual newspaper pieces. A bus full of people frozen in amber. Computer viruses that boiled human brains until they dribbled from their cranial orifices. A woman bursting into flames on a sidewalk full of people.

In almost each article where there was a photograph, he found the grainy image of his bald watcher. And the same theory repeated over and over.

'What the hell is the Pattern?'

But instead of getting an answer, the screen fizzled and went blank.

'No! No-no-no!' he smacked the sides of view screen, hoping to force it back into visibility, but it remained stubbornly dead. 'Don't tell me that one search completely shorted out the system!'

The TARDIS hummed apologetically at him, and the Doctor sighed. Yet another thing he would have to fix and which he didn't have the parts for right now.

'Having a bit of a domestic?' Rose asked, returning from the hallway.

The Doctor made a face. 'Either I was working longer than I thought, or you took a shorter nap than I expected.'

'Suddenly feeling a lot more awake,' she answered, sounding oddly relieved and possibly a bit confused.

'Something bothering you?' he asked, giving in to curiosity over his usual willful ignorance of what companions did when they weren't directly engaging with him.

'Nope – so did you figure out what's going on or come up with any more ideas about the bald man?'

It wasn't a skillful subject change by any means, but he let it go.

'Not a one,' he told her. 'Looks like anything we want to learn about him, we'll have to find out from the authorities.'

'So we need to find out where the Fringe team is,' Rose realised, and made a face. 'That mean we have to sneak into the FBI headquarters or something? Cos I'd rather not.'

'Me neither,' he agreed. 'Might not have to. Any agency that deals with phenomena not understood by the rest of the population will likely have a base of operations away from its regular members. Something about plausible deniability, as UNIT used to say. We just need to figure out where it is.'

'Wasn't that Bishop bloke a doctor?' Rose suggested. 'I mean, they didn't introduce him as an agent. You can Google him or something, find out where he lives and deal with the others through him.'

He beamed at her.

'Crude but simple. See, this is why I love humans.'

'I'll try to take that as a compliment,' Rose remarked dryly.

·ΘΣ·

Although the FBI had received an increase in funding for Fringe Division months ago, the paperwork that would have upgraded its human and technological resources remained in limbo.

_Not that it matters to Walter_, Peter thought as he watched his father excitedly examining one corpse that had been brought in. _All of Massive Dynamic at his disposal, federal offers of a state-of-the-art facility, and he still hangs out in a mould-infested basement._

He glanced over the top of his laptop to Olivia, wanting to share the joke, but her back was turned. She was still arguing with whoever it was at the Bureau that could release the rest of the bodies to the lab.

It didn't seem to matter how many cases like this Fringe worked, there was always a mountain of paperwork and red tap to wade through for victims' bodies. Sometimes the families circumvented the process anyhow. In this case, the body of Dr Farkas was claimed right away by his company. They had so many lawyers backing the order that not even Walternate would have had the power to overrule them without a document signed by the President.

Peter shook his head, forcing his eyes back to his screen. He couldn't figure out why he was so distracted, or why he practically felt his anxiety levels rising. He was used to pulling all-nighters on cases, but for some reason he couldn't focus tonight.

Across the room, Walter and Astrid were now opening up the first of the victims. As usual, the petite woman wore an expression of long-suffering tolerance behind her surgical mask. For once, Peter was thankful for the constant odour of formaldehyde and burnt wiring that lingered in the lab, because it drowned out the reek of the desiccated bodies.

'Got anything yet?'

Peter jumped slightly and glanced up at Olivia. Now off her call, she hovered over him expectantly.

_Focus_, he ordered himself, and made himself reread the information he'd just brought up.

'Yeah, I think so,' he answered. 'I was checking out the history of any of the victims of both companies, and in the process I found out something that might explain why this happened. The merger they were all toasting to? Would leave hundreds of people without jobs or any kind of compensation.'

'Sounds like motive to me,' Olivia agreed. 'Any red flags on employees from either company? Someone who'd have the experience and practical skills to pull off… whatever happened?'

'Rapid dehydration,' Walter called, his head practically inside the cracked-open chest cavity of one cadaver. 'I am still unsure as to the exact process to cause it, but the rapid dehydration part is fact. It must have been excruciating…' He trailed off thoughtfully for a moment, and then abruptly said, 'Aster, fetch me that carton over there.'

'Walter, if that's the severed hand they found at the scene…' Astrid's tone was warning.

'Don't be absurd – I already put that in the microwave.'

'Do I want to ask why?'

'Why, to see what effect minute amounts of radiation might have on the cells, of course. Sometimes, certain types of radiation have been known to – '

'Never mind,' she sighed. 'What's in the carton?'

'I got some French onion soup from the restaurant. This fellow's flaccid epidermis reminded me,' Walter confided, and then frowned. 'Although, I suppose heating it up in the microwave is now problematic.'

Peter shook his head and turned back to Olivia.

'Yeah, just gimme a sec. Safe to say anyone on the pharmaceutical side might've had the brains to, uh, come up with rapid dehydration technology. But it takes a special kind of sicko to actually use it on someone – oh, wait, I've got something,' he pulled up a file. 'Dr Richard Stark – he's got a background in virology and biochemical, and he was also one person whose jobs would be downsized with the merger. Also, apparently he had a temper. He's been flagged and cited for multiple work place bullying charges.'

'Sounds like the best lead we've got for now,' Olivia decided, already turning to leave. 'I'll do the groundwork on this one.'

'Hang on, I'll come with –'

'I need you to find out if there are any other potential suspects,' Olivia told him. 'You might see something that Astrid or I can't. Call me if you find anything.'

'If you can bring Stark to the lab, that would be helpful,' Walter spoke up absently from where he was setting several tissue samples into a petri dish. 'Even if he didn't create this phenomenon, the input of a virologist might aid in reversing it.' He paused. 'Although, obviously not for this man.'

Peter shot Olivia a look, wanting to protest, but by her expression she didn't want to hear it right now. He'd challenged her no-nonsense Fed attitude often since they met, but usually that was regarding cases they were working. They both knew what he would bring up, and he wasn't exactly keen on bringing it up here.

He sighed. 'Fine. I'll keep you posted if I find anything else.'

Olivia nodded, looked as though she wanted to say something else, then shook her head and left.

She was barely out of the room, before Walter was suddenly commenting, 'Peter, I suspect your mothering instinct is coming in early.'

Peter frowned in confusion. 'What?'

'Statistically speaking, there is an eleven to sixty five percent chance of a man experiencing the same hormone and mood shifts as their pregnant partner following the first trimester all the way through to postpartum,' Walter remarked. 'Some men even lactate. It would be fascinating if you were experiencing a pseudo pregnancy along with Agent Dunham, wouldn't it?'

'It really wouldn't,' Peter grumbled.

'Are you that worried?' Astrid asked quietly as she returned from weighing one of the victim's shrivelled kidneys.

Peter shrugged it off, eyes on his once more oblivious father. 'It's nothing. Walter's just been up reading too many health science journals lately.'

Astrid didn't seem convinced. 'Sometimes having an honest conversation helps.'

'Seriously, I'm not that worried –'

'I wasn't talking about you,' she replied in a low voice, indicating with her eyes toward Walter. Off Peter's apparent surprise, she added, 'Olivia mentioned.' She cleared her throat, and in a louder voice added, 'I'm going get a drink. You want anything?'

'Strawberry milkshake,' Walter called without turning around.

Astrid smiled and shook her head, then squeezed Peter's shoulder as she left.

_Great_, he thought. _Another opportunity for an awkward conversation… well, might as well try._

'Listen, Walter, I've been thinking,' Peter began, coming over and trying not to wince at how much more pungent the smell was as he got closer. 'It's been kind of fast, everything, with me and Olivia and moving in to the new place and the baby.'

'Perfectly understandable, Peter, nesting is the biological imperative of most mammals and avians.'

'Yeah, that's not want I meant – look, you know everything will be fine, right?'

'Of course everything will be fine,' Walter agreed amicably. 'Humans have been raising their young for generations, there should be no problem. I don't know why you're so worried about it –'

'That's not… not exactly what I meant,' Peter managed.

' – as I told you before the Cortexiphan isn't even in Olivia's system anymore, so I doubt there will be any side effects. Although, I will have to monitor the child after its birth.'

Peter blinked, trying to figure out if Walter was serious or not.

He didn't have time to ask, either, because a voice behind him suddenly exclaimed, 'Oh, fantastic! Looks like we don't need to track down the lot of you after all!'

·Φ·

Rose could tell right away that their unexpected arrival was also unwelcome.

'Maybe we should've called ahead,' she suggested faintly, even as the young Mr Bishop stalked forward.

'You're not supposed to be here,' he accused.

'After all the trouble I went through to get here? I assure you, I am definitely supposed to be here,' the Doctor retorted.

It hadn't been easy finding Dr Bishop's lab, especially so early in the morning. A few night caretakers were on duty, and they hadn't been keen to talk, let alone allow them in the building until the Doctor flashed the psychic paper.

_If he ever loses that he's done for, _she thought.

'Look, I don't know what kind of process the CIA has, but I'm familiar enough with the Bureau to know if your paperwork hasn't come through yet –'

'Trust me, Mr Bishop, my security clearance is of the highest order,' the Doctor replied with a grin. He then walked over to what appeared to be several cots where the dead victims were being dissected. 'Ah, I see you've started in, then? Mind if I observe a master at work?'

'Oh… yes, very well,' Dr Bishop blinked owlishly at the Doctor, before turning back to his work. 'Astro, fetch gloves for our guest.'

His son made an annoyed noise, but the curly haired woman was already passing the Doctor a set of white latex gloves. From the slump of the younger Mr Bishop's shoulders, Rose knew he had given in.

'No point in arguing with him now that he thinks he's got a fan,' he told her, nodding at his father.

'Sorry,' she apologised. 'The Doctor has that effect on people sometimes.'

'And the rest of the time?' he grumbled and then rolled his eyes. 'Anyway. I've got work to do, so don't… touch anything.'

He sat back down by an open laptop computer, leaving Rose to study the incredibly odd laboratory she and the Doctor now found themselves in.

It looked more like someone's dusty attic than a proper science lab. It was filled with equipment that might have been from the seventies if she remembered the old computers properly. Some areas were covered in white sheets like they had been forgotten, which struck her as odd. Wasn't this division supposed to be with the FBI? And it was almost ten years in her future, they should be able to afford more impressive tech.

There were little note papers stuck everywhere, like the numerous Post-Its all over the TARDIS console, and something like a cross between a refrigerator and a garden shed. Beyond that she made out an aquarium with a mini-squid creature inside of it, and –

_Is that a cow_? Rose wondered, staring across the room to a stall that appeared to hold just such an animal. The cow was chewing contentedly at her cud, utterly unconcerned with her location or the people wandering around.

_Who the hell are these people?_

She turned away from the cow, deciding she would not ask. If she was supposed to be some smart Cambridge toff, she'd better start paying attention to what was going on.

'… after examining the bodies, it seems that each one's DNA has been subtly altered. In each case, it shows recombinant microbes carrying a T-4 genome,' Dr Bishop was excitedly telling the Doctor.

'Genetically induced hydrogen oxygen barrier,' the Doctor nodded.

'Meaning?' the younger Bishop asked.

'Liquid dehydrator. Drink it, you shrivel up and die.'

'Yes, yes,' Dr Bishop nodded his head eagerly. 'Brilliant, really. Liquid that makes you thirsty.'

'What, like with salt?' Rose asked, trying to take part in the conversation.

'Pah, salt – _boring_,' Walter snorted. 'No, my dear, _bacteria_. Countless microorganism that, once ingested, cause the subject's DNA to instruct the cell cytoplasm to spill electrolytes into the bloodstream, causing dehydration.'

'And from the look if it, it's rapid and virulent,' the Doctor said, peering through a nearby microscope. 'Too fast to stop before the internal organs shrivel.'

'Precisely!'

The Doctor and Dr Bishop beamed at each other with the satisfaction of perfect understanding and then bent their heads again to continue their investigation. A steady, back-and-forth stream of science jargon flowed between them.

Rose didn't bother trying to decipher any of it.

'All of this seems to go way over your head.'

She jumped when she noticed Peter Bishop had come up behind her. His words weren't demeaning, simply observational, and he was eyeing her curiously. 'What exactly is it you're studying at Cambridge?'

Panic surged through her and she scrambled to come up with something convincing.

'Oh, um, not really a lot to do with biology, that's more the Doctor,' she evaded.

'So your field would be…?'

'It's more, er… to do with time travel,' she managed. 'You know, the… how's and the why's and… the should or should not's.'

_My God, can I sound any more idiotic?_

'Ethics of time travel,' he mused. 'Not something you usually hear much about in that field. What's your thesis?'

_Bollocks, what the hell do I say to that? What'd the Doctor say? Pretend like you own the place?_

She manufactured a superior smile and said the first thing to pop into her head. 'Time and Relative Dimension In Space.'

He raised an eyebrow at that, looking impressed.

'Hunh. So if you're in theoretical physics, what're you doing with a forensic pathologist? And in this line of work?'

'Oh, well, that's sort of… a right-place-right-time situation,' Rose said, settling on honesty. 'That, er, case with the relay signal in the London Eye? Been with him ever since.'

'How long's that bit?'

'Let's see, that was 2005, so…'

The younger Bishop whistled. 'Seven years? Guess you _are_ some kind of wunderkind. You were what, twelve?'

'Er… yeah, about,' Rose said, figuring she might as well go with the lie. Then she decided why not go all out. 'He was… visiting London that time. Saved his life, I did. And he said he wouldn't mind someone like me hanging about. Mum wasn't happy about me going off – but I think she finally realised the opportunity was better than just sitting in school.'

'She let you leave when you were _twelve_?'

'What? No!' Rose backtracked, trying to retrace her words.

Luckily, the Doctor provided a timely interruption, demanding, 'You mean to tell me you've seen this before?'

'Not exactly, no,' Dr Bishop answered. 'But I'm familiar with the theory behind it – related to some of the work I did in the seventies, of course. But without the proper technology, and a lot less refined, obviously.'

'Bell?' his son piped up, looking away from Rose for a second.

'Hm? Oh, no, not Belly – but he had an assistant that worked on similar theories. Can't remember the man's name though… might've been a woman, actually. I was never sure. A very mannish looking woman.'

'Who cares what they looked like,' the Doctor rolled his eyes impatiently. 'The point is, if you're familiar with what's happened, we should be able to reverse it.'

Again, more medical babble, this time sounding more like arguing. And young Bishop was staring at Rose again, looking almost suspicious.

_Oh, not good_, she thought.

If he continued this line of questioning, she had to think up something fast –

'So how do you posit time travel actually being possible?' he asked. 'And, just to be clear, we are talking time travel, right? Not time viewing? I mean, Einstein had a whole thing on that, but I'm curious as to how you'd make the distinction. How would someone travel in time?'

Rose feared her throat might seize as she tried to muster up a convincing way to explain herself.

'Well… I… I didn't say it would be a person travelling?' she thought furiously about everything the Doctor had ever told her about how the TARDIS worked. She also desperately wished she'd lied and told Peter she was studying something easier that was easier to bluff. 'I mean, our bodies couldn't make a trip like that through the Vortex.'

'Vortex?'

'The Space-Time Vortex,' she clarified. 'It's sort of…' She tried to remember how the Doctor had explained it to her once. 'A trans dimensional spiral that connects all the different points in time and space, all the past and present and future. You'd need a machine, or a ship, that could protect you. Cos you'd be going really fast, to travel to all those different places and time. And it's not really travelling so much as… disappearing here, reappearing there.'

'Can't say I've ever heard that explanation before. How would you account for the energy drain?'

'Sorry, what?'

'Well, the energy needed to go back even one day could potentially leech the surrounding energy of any living or mechanical object in a certain radius,' Bishop said. 'Or do you suggest travelling to the future is less messy than the past? Unless you're using some kind of time-loop bubble to contain the bleed, which trust me, you do not want to do –'

'Sorry, mind if I cut in?' the Doctor interrupted, his voice making Rose jump. At the same, though, it staved off the potential heart attack brewing with every word out of Bishop's mouth. He led her aside and adopted a mock scowl. 'Not giving away superior technology secrets, are you Rose?'

'You're the one who told be to act like I owned the place, so I figured I should pretend to be you,' she hissed.

'Mm… all the same, mind what you say around this lot,' he cautioned. 'That one in particular.' He nodded surreptitiously to Peter Bishop. 'Something about him's… off.'

'Off? Off how?'

'Nothing dangerous that I can pick up, but still. There's a story there, and I intend to find out more once we deal with the watcher and the murders.'

'So what'm I supposed to do 'til then?'

'Make friends?' the Doctor suggested, clapping the cow on the rump.

'Don't joke – she's likely the most normal one out of all of you,' Rose replied with conviction.

·ΘΣ·

The drive to Dr Stark's home was a long one which Olivia appreciated because it gave her time to reflect.

She wasn't unaware of the subtle tension simmering between herself and Peter. Observational skills were her strong point, and usually so was getting to the heart of difficult matters. This situation, though, differed from the norm.

A conversation needed to happen between her and Peter, one that they had conveniently ignored since they received the news about the baby. She just didn't want to have it right now.

Part of the reason she had been so eager to chase down this lead had been to get away from him for a bit. It was very uncharacteristic of her – she never avoided confrontation in relationships because she strongly believed it a waste of time. But she had sensed his eyes on her the entire evening, scrutinising and resigned. Like he wanted to say something but sensed, as she did, doing so would lead to an argument.

Olivia knew exactly what he was chewing over in his mind; the matter preoccupied her thoughts as well. She also believed he was getting upset over nothing, the way most people – most men – did under these circumstances.

It seemed as if, ever since she got pregnant, Peter expected her to be made out of glass.

_It's the twenty-first century_, she maintained resolutely, _a woman can work right up until giving birth if she wants to_.

In her line of work and according to FBI policy, she would eventually be put on maternity leave for safety reasons. But she didn't want it to happen anytime soon.

Not that she entirely disagreed with Peter's feelings on the matter. She understood how nervous he felt about the future. In a lot of ways, he was just like Walter, in that he got upset over things and then wouldn't let it go.

But Olivia was a capable woman and Peter the most caring individual she knew. They had a good support system, a home, a nursery set up for the baby, well-paying jobs and access to the best health care available –

_Especially once Nina hears about it and has her say_.

Olivia only had dim memories of the woman that raised her in this timeline. She had been trying to rebuild the floundering relationship with the executive director of Massive Dynamic for the past two months. Nina's duties as new head of Fringe's Science Division had made finding the time difficult though.

_And there's Broyles, for all that he's a prickly son of a bitch, he'll bend over backwards for his friends._

If Olivia ever needed anything, from an objective opinion to a helping hand, she could go to him.

Not that she would, because that would be outside the parameters of their professional relationship, but it was unspoken that she could count on him in an emergency.

So really, they were covered. This little soul that she and Peter were bringing into the world would be well-cared for and loved, no question about it.

She just needed to prove to herself that being a mother would not turn her into someone afraid to do her job. All she had ever wanted was to be an FBI agent and Fringe had added another aspect to the job she loved. She didn't want to lose it yet.

She refused to go back to being another nine-to-fiver, or worse, a civilian stay-at-home mother. Especially not now that she had seen what was out there in the world.

And her child – her daughter – would live in that world. Olivia had to make sure she protected her from the things that lurked out there that couldn't be explained. She only hoped she would be able to teach her daughter how to protect herself.

Olivia wished her parents had protected her, both in that alternate timeline that hadn't really happened and in this one. From Cortexiphan trials, from abusive stepfathers, from losing Mom so young, from crossing the street and getting hit by a bus or being shot by a psychopath –

Olivia shook her head.

Now she was feeding into anxiety about things she couldn't currently do anything about. Better to focus on something else.

The one-lane road stretched out in front of her, pink dawn just peeking over the horizon. She didn't see any other cars on the road this early.

She could just make out the refurbished farmhouse at the end of the road and pulled into the driveway. She parked next to the red sedan, whose licence plate matched the DMV records she'd used to find Stark's address. She noticed tyre tracks leading to and back out of the drive from a different car.

_Recent, seeing as how they haven't been covered in snow yet, _she noticed. _No other car registered to this address though… Car pool maybe?_

All the lights in the house were off, which meant Stark either wasn't around or still asleep – which was odd because he should be on his way to work.

_Carpool is looking more likely, but still need to check in case._

She rang the doorbell, and after a few minutes of silence, knocked on the door as well.

'Dr Stark? My name is Olivia Dunham, I'm an agent with the FBI – I need to ask you a few questions in connection with a case.'

Again, no answer.

Despite the car in the driveway, she found no sign that anyone was home. Suspicion and instinct told her that something wasn't right. After identifying herself a few more times, she started to think of a justifiable reason to get into the house.

Peering through the windows, she saw through a dusky living room and into a small kitchen – both empty it seemed. However, from her vantage point, she saw that the back door to the house was open a sliver.

She brought her service weapon out of its holster and slowly moved around the back of the house, careful not to disturb any of the boot marks in the snow.

Olivia slipped inside the house, Glock out and ready in case there any intruders remained in the house.

Room by room she cleared the place, and once she was sure it was empty, she called, 'Dr Stark? Are you in here?'

She heard no response, not even a creak of floorboards to show anyone was home. She started slowly up the stairs and was abruptly hit by a strong smell – the same one as she remembered from the restaurant.

She knew without a doubt what she was about to find.

The bedroom was clear, as was the bathroom, but the scent still emanating from what was probably an office. She once again identified herself before nudging open the door with her boot.

Stark had definitely been dealt with long before she arrived.

The body which she assumed was his lay crumpled in front of an easy chair; a completely dehydrated and skeletal arm still reached for the phone nearby.

A wave of nausea hit, and Olivia's usually cast-iron stomach finally rebelled at the combination of the odour and the sight. In the restaurant, the area had been larger and aired out before she arrived – here, the stench had concentrated in a sickening way.

She had to fight herself for a moment, trying to focus. She would not compromise a crime scene because of morning sickness.

When this didn't work, she left the room and headed back down the stairs. Even as the stench lessened, however, the sick sensation refused to subside, and by the second to last stair she was already running.

Olivia made it almost to the end of the drive before the contents of her stomach forced their way up her throat.

'Damn it,' she rasped when she finished, wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve and taking several deep breaths.

She still felt nauseous, but she might be able to control it if she stayed out of the house.

She dug her phone out of her pocket and dialled Peter.

He picked up on the second ring. 'Liv?'

'Stark's dead,' she said without preamble.

A small intake of breath. 'Let me guess, instant mummy?'

'Looks like. If Walter wants to take a look at the scene, you need to get him out here now,' she told him.

'On it,' Peter answered. He hesitated. 'You called it in first, right? So someone'll be showing up there before we get there? Just, with whoever's doing this out there, I don't think you should –'

'Whoever did this left long ago,' Olivia told him. 'Possibly this morning, if the tyre tracks I'm looking at are any indication.'

There was another silence from Peter, and then he sighed, 'Be there in an hour.'

'Don't break any speeding laws,' she told him, and hung up.

_Sorry, Peter, but if we're going to have this fight, it's not happening over the phone_, she thought and got back into the SUV to wait in. It was warmer in there, and she needed to find a bottle of water or something to rinse out her mouth.

·Φ·


	4. Chapter Four

**AN: Sorry if the characterizations are a bit off this chapter, I haven't written or watched Fringe in a while, so I'm not quite back in the headspace yet. But I am trying :P Also, let's see if anyone can figure out which fandom the secret cameo I stuck into this chapter is from. I'll give you an additional clue: the name you probably know this character by is not their real name :)**

* * *

_'I tolerate this century, but I don't enjoy it.'_

* * *

Peter pulled the car up behind a queue of official FBI vehicles; Astrid's little sedan felt rather out of place there, but it was the best he could manage on short notice.

'Not a social butterfly, this Stark fellow,' Smith remarked from his place in the passenger seat; he looked comically cramped there, even though he had moved the seat back. 'Otherwise there would be more rubberneckers.'

'Or we're just really far away from civilisation,' Tyler pointed out.

Although they had been keen on coming along once Walter declined to come along, they had both been quiet in the car. Peter got the sense that Smith was a bit claustrophobic, and the girl had been radiating discomfort around Peter since he asked her questions.

_Something's not right about these two, _he decided as he got out of the car. _And it's more than the usual CIA weirdness, too._

They all arrived after the forensic cleaners, who had already cordoned off the area from the sparse local traffic. A few neighbours from the surrounding houses were standing in the distance, gossiping with each other. Other than that, Smith's assessment seemed accurate; the only people interested in the murder were the official ones.

Peter could make out Olivia in the distance, talking to one of the clean-up crew. He hurried over to her so that he could at least give her a heads-up about the slight change in line-up today.

'… gone over the entire area,' the man was saying, sounding impatient. It didn't matter how many times the clean-up crews worked with Fringe, they always got tetchy about being unable to do their jobs without the official go-ahead. 'All that's left to be dealt with is the body. We've got our people waiting for the word so they can go in.'

'Soon,' Olivia promised. 'We need Dr Bishop to get here so he can perform a quick examination, and…'

She trailed off as she saw Peter, then – judging by the way her lips pursed as her eyes flew past his shoulder – Smith and Tyler.

'Excuse me,' she said, abruptly walking away from the cleaner. She strode over to Peter. 'What are they doing here?'

'Walter sent them in his place,' Peter said, and when she opened her mouth to comment on the oddness of that, he held up a hand. 'Yeah, I know, weird, right? But for some reason he trusts this Smith guy. And honestly, I haven't seen him this absorbed in something that didn't involve licking kids' toys to check for lead content in a while, so…'

_And if there's something really wrong with these two, I'm not leaving them near Walter and Astrid. This job gets them knocked out more often than they should be._

'But their clearance hasn't come in yet,' Olivia said, the statement more of a question.

'Nope, but I called to check with Broyles, and he okayed it.'

'And that doesn't strike you as odd?'

'Liv, "odd" left the building about four years ago,' he said, nodding up at the farmhouse where Stark's desiccated body languished. 'If you mean does it strike me as out of character for Broyles, yeah, it does. But it's not something we can really do something about right now, with some nutcase on the loose turning people into extras from _Raiders of the Lost Ark._'

She acknowledged that point at least, though her voice was tense when she said, 'This isn't a good idea.'

'I didn't think so either, at first,' Peter admitted, 'but then Walter said something about trying to synthesise some kind of cure to help future victims. Probably won't be any use as an antidote given how fast this dehydration thing works, but if he can come up with a vaccine for pre-emptive inoculation –'

' – we can render it useless.'

'Exactly. And as we've got another crazy science guy on payroll this week, I figured, why not. He seems to know what he's doing _and_ what Walter's doing without a translator, and how often does _that_ happen?'

Olivia nodded distractedly, eyes narrowing as she watched the pathologist in question confer with his assistant. 'And her being here? Teaching opportunity?'

'That, and she said she'd prefer to see another dehydrated corpse to whatever weirdness was in Walter's lab.'

'Can't say I blame her,' Olivia agreed, and frowned. 'Hold on – if she's his assistant, Walter's lab should barely phase her. Forensic science isn't exactly for the squeamish.'

'Yeah, well, that's not her field. Apparently she specialises in theoretical physics. She's working on a thesis about time travel of all things.'

_Apparently being the operating word. If Smith leaves her alone long enough, I can probably find out for sure, but until then…_

'Time travel,' Olivia repeated, frowning. 'Like what the Observer did –?'

'Hello,' Smith interrupted brightly, insinuating himself into both Olivia and Peter's personal space with a wide grin. 'Sorry to break up the blogging, but we've got a body to look at, yeah? Let's get to it so these fine folk can get back to their jobs – it's up that way, right?'

He didn't wait for confirmation, already starting off toward the house, but Olivia reached out and grabbed hold of his arm.

'Hold on – before you go anywhere, let's get something straight,' she ordered, forcibly turning him around and making him face her.

For a second, Peter wished she hadn't done that.

Something flashed across Smith's face– it made Peter's heart stutter and gave him the sudden impulse to step in front of his girlfriend and unborn child. The impulse disappeared as quickly as Smith's expression, but there was a slight hitch in Olivia's voice that suggest she had seen it too.

Still, to her credit, she kept talking.

'You may be CIA liaison or consultant or whatever your documents say, but you still don't have clearance. Which means you don't get to come and go here as you please –'

'I understand your distrust, Agent Dunham,' Smith interrupted. 'And your bluntness. Even appreciated it, so I'll be blunt in return – I've got no interest in taking over your case or infringing on your jurisdiction. I want to stop whoever's doing this – and as I'm rather clever, I'd think you'd want to take advantage of an extra bit of help. Also, I hope that by proving myself to you here, you might open up to me about something else of interest.'

_Ah, there's the catch_, Peter thought, eyes narrowing. 'And that would be?'

'Information on the watcher.'

'The what?'

'The man from the restaurant.'

'The Observer?' Peter spoke up, with a frown.

'Is that what you call him? Never mind – I don't care what his name is. I want to find out why he's here. And why he keeps showing up to your crime scenes in particular. Oh, and why you haven't done anything about it.'

Peter raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to ask something, but met Olivia's tight-lipped expression and stopped himself. She made an incremental shake of her head.

Smith apparently had the clearance to know about Fringe, but didn't seem to have heard of the Pattern before. Something wasn't right here, but if they confronted him about it…

He suppressed a shudder at the dark look that had been in his eyes. There was something dangerous about this Smith person, something that made Peter think bringing up suspicions wouldn't end well for anyone. He had seen soldiers that got that glint in their eyes, sometimes, and it usually meant that they were hanging on by a very thin thread.

'I'll consider it,' Olivia said after a moment.

Smith was grinning again. 'Fantastic! That's all I can ask, isn't it? Well, come on, let's go!'

He motioned for Rose, who had been listening to the entire exchange with a quiet nervousness, to follow him, and the two of them set off into the house.

'You changed your mind awfully fast,' Peter pointed out, watching her suspiciously. 'A second ago you can't trust him because of his clearance, but now suddenly you're going to tell him all about the Observers?'

'Just some of the stuff we know. To keep him busy,' Olivia assured him. 'There's something not right with him. Her too, but he's just… it's just a hunch I've got, okay?'

_Probably the same hunch I've got, but this isn't the place to talk about it,_ Peter thought. Out loud, he acknowledged, 'If there's anything I've learned, it's trusting your hunches. So, are we going to follow this hunch back inside?'

'You go on ahead. Keep an eye on those two. I'll be in once the body's cleared out.'

Doubt turned to concern, and for a moment he ignored their surroundings and let their personal life take centre stage. 'You okay?'

As expected, Olivia shook him off, but not with the same defensiveness as usual. 'I'm fine. It's the smell.'

'You sure?'

'Yeah, I'm sure. Go.'

'I'll tell Smith to make it snappy then,' he told her. 'Sooner we figure this whole thing out, sooner we clock out. And then I owe you some Italian.'

'And I owe you a conversation,' Olivia replied genuinely.

Something invisible lifted itself from Peter's shoulders. They were still on the same page.

He managed a weak smile. 'I'll hold you to it.'

·Φ·

Olivia waited until Peter disappeared into the house and then took out her phone to call the Bureau again. She wanted an update on Smith and Tyler's status, and if not that, at least some more background information.

Unfortunately, it seemed their clearance check was still pending – tied up in the inevitable game of telephone up the chain of command through both agencies.

She didn't have the time, or the patience to wait for the red tape to clear. And she didn't need Broyles on her back as well for not playing nice with the CIA liaisons.

It was possible that something on Rose Tyler and John Smith might have been overlooked on her end. A downside to working in an internal agency like the Bureau was that every so often, foreign affairs got immediately shrugged off as a CIA purview and ignored.

And she didn't trust the CIA to be completely straight with them on the matter.

_There's bound to be something of public record on Smith_, she decided, based on her impressions of the man. _And I've got a feeling I won't find it stateside._

Smith might sound like he hailed from New York, but the way he phrased things sometimes suggested he had lived abroad for a while. Probably in London if he was dragging that young girl with him.

That was another thing that bothered her. The obvious age difference was the first noticeable thing, but their respective personalities and demeanours didn't jibe with the story they'd given.

From her short impression of the girl, Olivia judged her to have been raised in a working class environment. She wore second hand clothing, so she obviously didn't come from money. If she was at Cambridge, it was on scholarship and not out of her own pocket. She had a set to her jaw and a gleam in her eyes that suggested a fighter which Olivia took to mean the girl might have had a rough upbringing. Probably made worse by her intellect; smart kids didn't have it easy in an inner-city situation.

As for the man…

She didn't even know where to begin on him. Smith was a walking contradiction, and the only two facts she was certain of was that he had been a soldier at some point and that he was dangerous.

To whom, she couldn't be certain, but she needed to make sure he would not be a danger to her people. And possibly the girl, but that was an afterthought.

Olivia's first instinct was to check missing person reports to ensure that Smith hadn't abducted the girl. She had seen abusive relationships before and had dealt with abduction cases that resulted in Stockholm Syndrome.

_This isn't anything like that,_ she suspected.

The way these two looked at each other did not resemble the way working partners or even lovers looked at each other. Olivia loved Peter with her whole heart and she would rip apart universes to keep him safe – had all but done it.

But she didn't look at him like he was the answer to everything, the way Rose Tyler looked at Dr Smith.

And Peter didn't return that look with the same fervour the way Smith did to Rose.

Olivia scrolled through her contacts, and after finding the one she needed, hit the call button. It was early enough here that she would probably catch the intended recipient at work.

If not, Lisa's phone was practically grafted to her hand anyhow.

After five rings, the phone picked up.

A woman with a bored voice drawled, 'If you are one of the privileged few that has this number, you know that I prefer to text. This better be important.'

Olivia chuckled. 'It's great to talk to you too, Lisa.'

'Olivia,' the voice changed subtly; less bored, more surprised and a bit annoyed.

'Not tired of running the British government yet?' Olivia teased.

She could practically hear the other woman rolling her eyes.

'Honestly, Olivia, I occupy a minor position here,' Lisa protested. 'Nothing so over-glamourized as your agency, I assure you. More often than not I simply have to keep my employer's family's name out of the papers lest they do something incredibly idiotic and bring down the monarchy.'

'I think that's the longest sentence I've ever gotten out of you,' Olivia said. 'I take it the monarchy's often in danger of collapsing then?'

'Indeed,' Lisa sniffed. 'Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?'

_Straight to the point then. Always liked that about her_, Olivia thought.

Olivia had met Lisa McAllister, a former Second Lieutenant with the Royal Marines, back when she had still been part of the US Marine Corps. Their paths crossed for the first time at the RIMPAC exercise in 2004, and they'd struck a friendship that endured through frequent email correspondence.

Lisa now occupied a paper-pushing position that afforded her certain connections to the British government that she wasn't permitted to reveal to Olivia. Olivia guessed it was either MOD or MI6.

A month ago, Lisa had contacted her looking for information on a former FBI operative and current CIA asset named Neilson regarding something to do with counter-terrorism measures. Olivia had had to bend a few rules to get the information, but Lisa had promised she would owe her a favour.

Olivia intended to collect on it now. 'You're on a secure line?'

'What kind of simpleton do you take me for?'

'The kind that's not. Listen, I'm calling in my favour.'

'This must be serious then,' Lisa said. Though her tone remained utterly unperturbed, Olivia could hear the rustle of clothing, like she was moving forward in her chair or sitting up straight. 'I'll do what I can, provided it's within reason.'

'I need everything you have on a Dr John Smith and Rose Tyler,' Olivia said. 'I'm more interested in Smith, honestly, but Tyler's the one who's actually from your side of the ocean. I can give you approximate ages and descriptions, and the details they've deigned to give us, but…'

Lisa snorted. 'Are you serious? John Smith is only the most common name in the United Kingdom.'

'Pretty common over here, too, but this guy is the most _uncommon_ person I've ever met,' Olivia allowed. 'I just need to know if he spent any time over there. And if Rose Tyler is really a student at Cambridge.'

There was a pause on the other side of the phone, and Olivia imagined her friend frowning thoughtfully.

'I'll see what I can find,' she finally promised. 'It will likely be at least a few hours, but I will make a phone call or two. Be advised, though, this goes beyond the favour I owe you. So the next time I'm in town, you're paying for the drinks.'

'Now that's just not fair – I've seen you drink,' Olivia protested.

They exchange a few more quick pleasantries, and then she hung up.

Turning round, she saw the covered body being carried out the front door. Smith was apparently done with his examination.

_Time to check up on the case_, she decided grimly and headed back into the farmhouse.

She wasn't sure which one she meant.

·Φ·

Feeling out of place, Rose looked around the dim office. She frowned at reams of paper on the desk with complicated equations and almost indecipherable notes on them. Even if any of that would help solve this mystery, she'd never be able to recognise it.

_I'm useless here,_ Rose thought angrily. And however ignorant the Doctor might be, Peter Bishop had definitely picked up on it.

They were talking with one another now, snatches of their conversation floating over to her every time Bishop shot her a calculating glance.

She busied herself with at least looking like she was investigating the place, half paying attention to the other conversation.

'… possibly transferable?'

'No, not a virus… bacteria… and non-airborne variety at that…'

Rose began examining the various paperweights and other curios on the desk, glancing briefly at the few photographs on the desk. They were mostly work related from what she could see. People in white lab coats, one with the dead man alone outside a rustic looking log cab, and one with a young man outside an industrial looking building.

Boyfriend, she'd wager, if the possessive way the young man held on to Dr Stark's wrist said anything.

'… once it's disseminated through the system and absorbs all the moisture it can find, it dies.'

'Because there's no more moisture, right?'

'Right. It's a bit alien, actually.'

_Ex-boyfriend, maybe_, Rose thought, because from what she'd seen of the house on their way up, the entire place felt like only one person lived here. One dish and set of cutlery in the sink, one mug drying on the rack… the place looked nothing like her mum's flat had always looked. _Poor man must have been all alone when he died_.

Her heart pained a little at that, considering her memories of how the diners at the restaurant had died.

_He must have been terrified_.

'… theoretically, should be possible by contemporary scientific means, but I would've expected it in a virus form. The fact that we only found the presence of bacteria though…'

Her stomach rebelled at the memory of how the doomed restaurant patrons had looked, their faces twisted in desperation and fear.

She mentally clamped down on that. It wouldn't do to dwell on things she couldn't change, and so she forced herself back to the present.

'… likely poisoned, as with the people in the restaurant,' the Doctor was saying, gesturing to the cognac glass. 'A small sample of those dehydrating bacteria in his nightcap, and he wouldn't even have noticed. For all of ten seconds.'

'But why?' Bishop wanted to know. 'The diners, I can understand, there was possible motive. But killing a guy in his home with bacteria?'

'Whoever did it was looking for something,' Agent Dunham announced as she entered the room, wrinkling her nose a bit at the lingering odour.

'How d'you figure that?' Bishop asked.

'Whoever murdered Stark could have spiked his drink and disappeared if it was just a personal vendetta. Or if they were trying to shut him up about something,' she explained. 'But the FBI on the scene said Stark died about six hours ago.'

'Six and a half,' the Doctor corrected. 'Judging by the smell, at least.'

'All right, six and a half,' Dunham acknowledged. 'But the boot print and tyre tracks we found outside the house are only about three hours old.'

'So why'd the murderer stick around for three extra hours,' Bishop realised.

'To take his time looking through the house… but also taking care to make like he hadn't been here,' the Doctor added, looking around the study with renewed interest. 'Yet nothing seems to be out of place, and your people likely didn't find any fingerprints.'

'Whoever he is, he's smart,' Rose remarked, earning an inscrutable stare from Agent Dunham.

She was watching Rose like she was fighting the urge to turn her away from her crime scene. Rose abruptly wondered if she was compromising the investigation just by breathing in the same room.

She turned away, brain working furiously to come up with something she could do to make it appear like she knew what she was doing. All she had to do was keep the intense FBI Agent's attention off of her and –

Wait. What was that?

She blinked and once more turned to face the wall that had caught her attention. She frowned, not seeing anything.

_Must have been a trick of the light_, she decided and turned away – only for whatever it was to catch the periphery of her vision again.

Once more she focused on the spot on the wall, slowly moving her head from side to side, trying to see without looking. 'Doctor…?'

The conversation trailed off, and he looked up. 'What is it?'

'I think there's something…' she trailed off meaningfully, not knowing if he wanted her to say out loud what she thought she might have found. When she met his expectant gaze, she realised he fully intended her to finish the sentence, and so she went one, 'I think there's a perception filter on the wall.'

'A what-filter?' Bishop asked.

When the Doctor didn't jump in to explain, she realised he would let her do this as well.

Part of her worried he was setting her up to muck up their cover, making her explain things she didn't understand. Another part suspected he was trying to ensure neither of their new associates questioned her presence there.

'It's a kind of technology that can, er, direct attention away from itself,' Rose explained, remembering the Doctor's explanation. 'You look at it, but you don't actually see it.'

Agent Dunham narrowed her eyes. 'How?'

'Well, it's sort of like a dull gloss, innit?' Rose replied. 'Blurs the information being sent to your eyes, kind of like an optical illusion. Only… it's actually more telepathic. Gets in your head, tells you there's nothing.'

'Then how'd you know it was there?'

'I just… you've got to try to see it from the corner of your eye. You don't stare directly at it, but as long as you know what you're looking for you can see,' she explained.

'And you've worked with these perception filters a lot, then?' Agent Dunham demanded, in that suspicious voice Rose recognised from television.

The forthright and stubborn police officer suspected her story.

'A few times,' the Doctor interjected, and came over to stand with Rose, making a show of searching for the spot on the wall with her. 'This is a pretty crude model, though, considering you lot don't incorporate psychic interfaces yet. More optical illusion than telepathic this time, I'd wager, wouldn't you Rose?' He reached down and surreptitiously slipped the sonic from his sleeve into hers. He whispered, 'Setting's keyed in, just aim.'

'Er, yeah,' Rose agreed without really knowing what she was agreeing to. 'This one's a prototype?'

'Oh, no doubt.'

'Can you turn it off?' Bishop asked.

'Rose's field, not mine,' the Doctor said cheerfully, and she shot him a brief glare, before pasting a cheery smile on her face and beaming at their associates.

'Gimme a mo',' she agreed, and went to stand in front of the wall to make it look like she was examining some kind of invisible computer system. She strained her wrist a bit to grab hold of the sonic without showing it to them and aimed it at the blurry patch of wall.

There was a whirring noise, and then the wall wasn't just a bare patch of space, but showed off a large safe. Beside it, Rose noticed a keypad she supposed required some sort of code.

'So he had something to hide,' Bishop stated. 'Anyone got a safecracker on speed-dial? I'm a bit rusty…'

'Hang on a tick,' the Doctor said, and opened up the compartment beneath the pad. Several wires were sticking out, and faster than Rose's eyes registered, the Doctor's fingers were tangling among them, pulling apart and reconnecting.

With a groan, and the safe door sprung open.

'That more jiggery-pokery?' she teased.

'Nope, that was definite hullabaloo,' he replied, returning the grin.

'You're pretty versatile for a forensic pathologist,' Bishop remarked suspiciously.

'What, you don't have hobbies?' the Doctor retorted, as Agent Dunham strode forward and opened the safe door wider.

·ΘΣ·

The perception filter itself had been a rather crude example of the technology, and only just within the margins of what the Doctor would consider anachronistic. Humans had been working on such things since before the Industrial Revolution, a time when scientific discovery was lauded and imagination stretched beyond capability.

That being said, this perception filter was still beyond what should exist in this time period.

As Agent Dunham busied herself with the contents of the safe – what looked like a bunch of files and folders – the Doctor examined the safe itself. Whoever handled its design was likely aware of the perception filter, possibly the same one who had created it.

There was nothing on the safe, but upon further examination of the keypad, he saw a small logo.

_Massive Dynamic_.

He made a mental note to investigate the place because their technology was obviously being helped along by someone or something.

Maybe even by the "Observer" that the Fringe Division didn't feel like telling him about.

'These are research findings,' Dunham said, and her expression darkened as she flipped through them. 'All of this refers back to one person – Dr Simone Parker.' She turned to the Doctor. 'Have you ever heard of her?'

'Nope,' he answered, while Rose shook her head.

'Actually… hold on, I think I've heard that one,' Bishop said, screwing up his face in an effort to recall. 'It might be from the background checks I ran back at the lab.' He pulled out his cellphone. 'I'll give Astrid a call, see if she can't find anything for us.'

'I'll check in with the Bureau, see if she's in the system,' Dunham said, and then turned to the Doctor. 'Is there any point in asking you to check with your people, or is that going to be classified too?'

'You're a bit rude, aren't you?' the Doctor replied easily. As the woman bristled, he snorted and shook his head. 'We'll call in. We have to anyhow, let our _agency_ know about our findings. If you'll excuse us, we'll be in the other room.'

And before Dunham offered any protest, he shuffled Rose away from the office and toward the rather Spartan bedroom of the late Dr Stark.

'Cor, she's hard work,' Rose remarked quietly once the Doctor was sure they were out of earshot. 'Is it me, or does she not like us?'

'It's not that – the two of them don't believe we are who we say we are,' the Doctor replied, falling back into his natural way of speaking. 'Don't worry, though, we'll be out of their hair before they have a chance to look into us.'

'Yeah, well, not if you keep calling attention to me like I'm some sort of genius! I can't read your mind, you know! Half the time I've been guessing what it is you wanted me to tell them,' Rose grumbled, stuffing her hands into her pockets.

A pained expression passed over her face and was quickly buried between forced neutrality.

'You doin' all right?' he asked, wincing at how awkward it sounded even to his ears.

Rose's eyes widened and she suddenly wouldn't meet his eyes; she looked a little flushed. 'I'm fine.'

'You sure?'

'It's not important – d'you think this Observer bloke is the one responsible for the bacteria? I mean, you said it was alien before, so…'

The Doctor frowned at the attempted subject change. 'No. For whatever reason, these Fringe people seem to think he's not a suspect. And just because someone travels in time doesn't mean they're alien. Lots of people from your own world've travelled in time, long before it even became a thing. Rose, something's…'

'Yeah?'

'You just seem a bit… off. Today,' he cleared his throat. 'Quieter than usual.'

Alarm flashed across her face, and she quickly looked away.

'Now's not really a good time.'

'Right. Okay,' he tried not to feel hurt by that. Since they'd met, it seemed like there was no such thing as not a good time. He might start a conversation about the practical applications of toothpaste at two in the morning (according to her calculations, anyhow) and she always listened.

'No, Doctor, I don't mean –'

'S'alright. We've got more important things to deal with. Though, whatever you're hiding must be important, cos you're mind's not on task. I'd rather not explain to your mum if something happens to you if you're not paying attention.'

Rassilon, had he really played the mother card? How bleeding domestic was he getting?

As flushed as she had been, suddenly she was pale and shaking her head. 'No – it's – I don't want –'

Her uncharacteristic stuttering made him raise an eyebrow. His fingers twitched for the sonic she still had in a sudden bid to scan her and see what was wrong.

She, however, finally seemed to decide that this waffling about wasn't doing either of them good. She exhaled quickly and squared her shoulders in resignation, like she expected a verbal castigation of some sort.

'My period is late,' she told him neutrally. 'Almost five days now. That… that doesn't happen. I'm always regular, but suddenly now…'

She trailed off, shrugging and looking at him like she hoped he would infer what she was telling him without her having to continue.

The Doctor blinked, for a moment puzzled by her obvious discomfort, before he remembered that in this era many humans still reacted to their own reproductive practices with embarrassment. He wasn't sure whether Rose's discomfiture stemmed from the allusion to her menses – even in this century, the female menstrual cycle was considered something shameful – or possible pregnancy. That brought him up short with his own sense of panic, because if she was, it meant an end to their travels before they had really begun.

He inhaled deeply, ignoring the smell of scented soap and body lotion that mingled with Rose's own unique scent. He focussed past the soupy odour of salt and plasma that every human gave off, his nose seeking out any sign of heightened progesterone in her system.

Nothing.

Still, best to be sure.

He wordlessly gestured for the sonic which she returned to him, and performed a quick scan before she could ask what he was doing.

Everything read normal, no additional hormones to account for. The delay in her cycle was likely due to her body acclimating to artron radiation. It sometimes happened that way with human females.

'You're not,' he told her simply.

'I'm not…?'

'Pregnant,' he told her.

'Oh.' She looked temporarily stunned. Then she made a face. 'Wait, how can you tell? And if I'm not, why am I late?'

Right, this was going about as well as he had expected. He made a mental note to never try to start a personal conversation. Ever. Again.

Either he could ignore the entire situation, shrug it off the way he always had done… or he could try to address it as maturely as possible. Steel himself for a frank conversation which Rose had obviously just done with him.

It was only fair, he decided. He'd prodded until she told him, volunteered that rather personal bit of information, the least he could do was offer the same curtesy.

'Oh, that?' he said lightly. 'There's nothing for you to worry about there. Just a side effect of TARDIS. It sometimes messes with the biochemistry of lower species when they first start travelling in her. Your cycle with regulate itself once it gets used to the background radiation.'

'Radiation?" Rose squeaked, although the sound turned to a hiss as she glanced around lest Dunham and Bishop were nearby. 'What radiation? Why didn't you tell me about this?!'

'More important things to worry about lately, don't you think?'

'Like the fact I'm being radiated?!'

'Irradiated,' he corrected. 'And only by the good kind of radiation. Actually, it makes you healthier than you were when –'

'Why can't you be arsed enough to tell me when weird things happen?' Rose hissed, clearly not wanting to listen to his explanation.

'Oi! I tell you all the time when weird things are happening. First time we met, I told you weird things were happening!'

'That's not what I mean, and you know it! I mean for… ships that get into my head and change my body without even asking my permission! You just… you expect me to handle everything and go with it!'

'Because you're so bloody good at it, what else am I supposed to do?' he shot back. 'You handle alien invasions and a bigger-on-the-inside time ship all the time! It stands to reason you should be able to handle minor details like translation circuits and delayed biological reactions without goin' to pieces!'

'God, you're so alien!'

'Yes, I am! Good! I'd thought you'd forgotten!'

'Those things aren't minor to me, Doctor – which you'd understand if you knew anything about feelings!'

Anger and hurt flared up within him, and he opened his mouth to retort with a blistering comeback, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Bishop let himself in.

'Your side got anything?' he asked, eyes darting between Rose's flushed and still angry face, and the Doctor's clenched jaw. If he sensed anything was amiss, he at least had the decency not to say anything.

'Nothing that we are at liberty to discuss,' the Doctor answered tightly, once more adopting his false American accent.

'Big surprise,' Bishop snorted. 'Well… it won't be said we didn't play nice with you guys on this one. Liv – I mean, Agent Dunham, might have a lead on Dr Parker.'

'Guess we should go find out what it is,' Rose said with false brightness and practically stalked out of the room.

The Doctor watched her go with a scowl. 'Do you ever have one of those conversations where nothing you say is the right answer?'

'Buddy, welcome to my life,' Bishop snorted.

·ΘΣ·


	5. Chapter Five

**AN: Aaaaand updating a bit early because I've got birthday stuff to do. Enjoy! As usual, editing will be done later.**

* * *

'_I tolerate this century, but I don't enjoy it.'_

* * *

As Peter led Dr Smith back to where Olivia and Rose waited, he tried to make sense of the mystifying spat almost walked in on.

Something about translation circuits and delayed biological reactions, and then Rose yelling at Dr Smith about being alien and not understanding feelings. Minus the first part, he had had heard worse insults than "alien" and witnessed far more explosive domestic disputes.

Hell, he and Olivia had _had_ those disputes.

He just wished he'd come in earlier, caught more important information and less of the personal details. Perhaps a bit more context for the conversation would have helped him figure out who they were – CIA or not, they were acting odd.

He'd be thinking shapeshifters if Fringe Division hadn't already dealt with the ones that remained, and if experience hadn't taught him that they worked alone.

Then again, life often survived, no matter how strange the life. If Dr Smith and Rose Tyler were shapeshifters left over from Bell's attempt to create his own universe, it wouldn't be easy to find out. Once upon a time, a quick prick of the finger would have done it – silvery mercury blood instead of haemoglobin. But now, it would take knocking them out and performing surgery to extract the memory discs from their spines to tell for sure.

'Oi, you, Bishop!' Fingers snapped in front of his face and he was wrenched from his thoughts to stare up at Dr Smith who watched him with exasperation. 'Not the best time to get lost in your thoughts, is it? Honestly, the attention span you lot have…'

'Did you want something?' Peter interrupted, annoyed. Shapeshifter or not, he didn't like Smith. The man was impatient and obviously utterly impressed with his own self-proclaimed brilliance.

'Forgot to ask – did your side find anything?' he asked as the re-entered the study. Rose continued to glare at him like she wanted nothing more than to slap him, and then abruptly turned red and looked away.

_No friggen way are they shapeshifters_, Peter determined with finality. Their behaviour was anything but mercenary. The CIA consultant possibility became less likely by the moment.

Dr Smith paused as they crossed the threshold, and then made a face like he had smelled something unpleasant – or, more unpleasant than the lingering odour of dehydrated rotting corpse.

His eyes flashed disapprovingly at Olivia.

'You shouldn't be working a case like this while pregnant,' he told her bluntly. 'S'dangerous.'

There was a ringing silence in the room, shock registering not only on Peter's face but on Olivia and Rose's as well. Olivia recovered before all of them, though, shooting a sharp glance at Peter. 'Really?'

'Don't look at me, I didn't say anything,' he protested, then rounded on Dr Smith. 'How the hell did you know that?'

Dr Smith rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, Rose interjected hurriedly, 'Sorry, he does that sometimes. It's sort of this Sherlock Holmes trick, and he doesn't realise it might be _rude_ to use it on people.'

Something appeared to pass between them - tacit agreement to put whatever they were arguing about aside for the moment, if Peter were to guess – and Smith nodded almost imperceptibly. Then he was grinning at Olivia in a disarming yet false way.

'Simple enough deduction to make, even without the way you and Mr Bishop here have been talking to each other. Can't miss that, especially not with these ears,' he declared. 'There's the puddle of vomit at the end of the drive that none of the medical examiners swabbed for particulates. So it's not related to the case, but it had to come from somewhere and you're the only one who's been here for the freshness of it. You were sick. And you weren't sick last night when we met, so I assume you've only been getting sick in the morning, so –'

'Now you're being rude on purpose,' Rose interrupted.

Olivia opened her mouth to say something, seemed to decide better, and said, 'I don't care how you know. It's none of your business and has nothing to do with the case, so if we could get back to work?' She didn't wait for an answer. 'I called the lab and mentioned Dr Parker to Walter. He recognised the name. He said she was Bell's assistant.'

'The one he spoke about?' Peter asked.

'Yeah. But that was all he remembered. He doesn't recall anything else.'

'Well that could change in the next five minutes or the next five months. Either way, we can't exactly wait around for him.'

'Exactly. Which is why I had Astrid run a check for us. Apparently Dr Parker was fired from Massive Dynamic almost twenty years ago and –'

'Hold on, Massive Dynamic?' Dr Smith spoke up. 'That's the name on the keypad. Is that some sort of organisation?'

Peter and Olivia stared at him in disbelief.

'Are you kidding?' Rose snorted. 'They're one of the richest companies in the world, even I know that. There was a big thing about them on the news last time I was home.'

'Obviously they're not important if I've never heard about them,' Dr Smith retorted.

'Guess you've never heard of Donald Trump or the Kardashians either,' Peter joked.

Dr Smith looked puzzled. 'Should I have?'

Peter blinked.

_Alien is right_, he shook his head. He had always thought Walter was the only one so completely disconnected from the world. Though Walter's disconnection was due to insanity – he wasn't quite sure what Smith's reason was.

Olivia's eyes were narrowed and her lips drawn into a thin line. Peter knew she was filing this away. Rose piped up nervously, 'Sorry, he's a bit hopped up on himself a lot of the time. Most of the time, actually.'

'We hadn't noticed,' Peter put in.

'It turns out,' Olivia interjected, putting them back on track, 'that Parker suffered some sort of fall-out with her former employers. She couldn't get work anywhere except on the scientific team of a food company.'

'Let me guess – they make energy bars,' Peter suggested.

'Exactly. And from what Astrid found out, it wasn't exactly the best job in the world. No benefits, they were making money off her without giving her credit, and she wouldn't complain because it's the only place that would hire her. Fast forward to the announcement of a merger and hundreds of people being let go –'

'And she figures she's on the chopping block.'

'Well, they couldn't keep her even if they wanted to,' Smith pointed out. 'Pharmaceuticals is close enough to bio-weapons in some places. They couldn't be associated with her.'

'So what's this got to do with Dr Stark?' Rose asked.

'He and Dr Parker worked together. And both were on the list of people being let go,' Olivia said.

'Do you generally keep a safe full of confidential files on your work-colleagues?' Smith questioned.

'You sure you're CIA?' Peter snorted.

'Last time I checked, CIA training involves destroying information, not hiding it,' Smith rolled his eyes. 'Holding on to information, that's usually down to wanting protection from something or someone. Maybe the file we found was insurance of some sort.'

'What, from Dr Parker?' Rose questioned.

'Or he was blackmailing her,' Peter suggested.

'There must be something in there that threatened her, because there's barely any information related to her work in any of the checks Astrid did,' Olivia said. 'Every record that turned up only related to the company she worked for.'

'But she's obviously involved in this whole mummification bacteria thing, right?' Rose asked. ''D'you think she created it?'

'Only way to find out for sure is to track her down,' Peter put in.

'I'll put out an order that she be brought in for questioning,' Olivia said. 'In the meantime, we need to find out if there's anything else on her besides what's in thee files.'

'And how d'you propose doing that?' Smith inquired.

'I'm going to speak to Nina Sharp. She's still acting head of Massive Dynamic, and probably knows more about this than what's in the files.'

'I'll come with,' Smith announced, and though the words were innocuous they sounded like a command.

Olivia noticed this too because her eyes narrowed. 'There's no need. Besides, they don't let just anyone walk in and I don't have time to make sure you've got permission to be there.'

'Don't need it,' Smith brushed off, already heading out the door and calling over his shoulder. 'Rose, you head back to the lab with Peter, make yourself useful there. We'll be back in a tick.'

He ducked out of the room, and Rose's fists clenched and twin spots of angry red appeared on her face.

_Trouble in paradise?_ Pete wondered.

Smith poked his head back into the room. 'Sorry, how do we get there?'

Olivia pursed her lips and glanced over at Peter. 'See you back at the lab?'

He tensed.

He still didn't want Olivia going off with someone who might be dangerous, and it remained on the tip of his tongue to insist they all go together.

Then again, splitting them up might mean getting the truth about what was going on. Of the two, Smith would be the more difficult one to break, so it stood to reason Olivia be the one to deal with him. That left him with Rose.

_Should be easy_, he thought grimly but forced a smile. 'Yeah, sure.'

· Φ ·

Sitting in the passenger seat of the car Agent Farnsworth had lent Peter that morning, Rose realised that she'd become rather spoiled by the cavernous space of the TARDIS. At least in the timeship, if she didn't want to endure unwelcome scrutiny, she had an infinite number of rooms to disappear into, including her own.

As it was, driving back to Harvard with Peter was uncomfortable for more than the awkward silence.

She couldn't believe the Doctor had left her behind. He'd practically made a run for it! And the way he'd told her to head back to the lab, like she was some kid who needed to be foisted off on a babysitter!

She shouldn't have said anything to him, shouldn't have opened her stupid mouth!

Her cheeks still burned with shame at the fact she'd broken down and admitted her problem to him. She had tried so hard to be mature, to keep him from such an embarrassing problem. All he'd had to do was seem hurt that she didn't trust him, and she'd given in.

Oh, he'd acted like it was nothing but some silly human quirk and pretended like he didn't care, but the minute he'd spotted an escape, he scarpered.

Granted, she was relieved that nothing was wrong with her, but the whole incident had put her completely out of her element.

And the Doctor, thick as he was, hadn't even noticed!

Noticing would mean paying attention to domestics, so of course he hadn't noticed.

She felt like an idiot.

Worse than that, she felt hurt, and a bit abandoned. If her outburst hadn't bothered him, he would have insisted she come along with him.

_Maybe he thought that would be too hard for me to get through without bollocksing up,_ she seethed. _Less likely to blow up at him in the middle of getting important information, right?_

To be honest, at this point she wasn't sure who she should be angrier at – herself or the Doctor.

'Hopefully we're getting back early enough to beat rush hour,' Peter blurted suddenly, breaking the heavy silence in the car. 'It's be a pain in the ass if we got stuck.'

'You haven't seen traffic until you've been stuck on the M25 and had to go to the toilet,' she replied, glum as she stared out the window. She remembered a particularly unpleasant trip with Mickey that she had forced him to never repeat to anyone ever.

'Yeah, been there,' Peter chuckled. 'Both the London thing and the stuck on the M25 thing.'

'Hm.'

She crossed her arms and shifted in the seat, trying to find a bit of comfort. She sort of hoped he'd take a hint from her tone of voice and not try to make any more conversation.

'You shouldn't worry about it.'

Apparently the Doctor wasn't the only thick one.

'Worry about what?' she asked.

'Smith. He's a smart guy and all, but even the smart ones can be clueless. Guys, I mean.' Rose stared at him now, puzzled at what he was going on about. 'Whatever he's done or not done, you don't need to hold it against him.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Hey, I get it – workplace romances are hard, especially when they involve someone you've known for a while. Eventually you figure out the right balance of professional and –'

'We aren't together,' Rose informed him bluntly.

'It's okay, I'm not judging–'

'No, really, he's just my mate.'

'I dunno, that conversation you two were having was a bit intense for "mates".'

'Oh my God!' Rose exploded. 'What is it wif everyone? My mother, my best friend, my boyfriend – everyone thinks I'm shaggin' the Doctor, and I'm not! And even if I was, it's _so_ not your business!'

'Oh-kay,' Peter heaved out a breath, eyes returning to the road stretching out before them. 'Time for a subject change.'

'You fink?' she snapped.

'Sorry, didn't mean to offend you. I'm just… trying to make sure you're okay.'

'Why wouldn't I be?'

He chuckled. 'Guess you weren't joking about preferring dead bodies to Walter's lab.'

'Dead bodies I can handle, trust me,' Rose sniffed, thinking of the walking dead and homicidal window shop dummies. 'It's only a bit more disturbing than some of the things I've seen. But there's just something about rotting food sitting next to a jar of brains that… ugh.'

She shuddered.

'Really?' Peter looked impressed. 'Dehydrated corpses are kind of hard for most people to process.'

'Most people haven't seen suits made out of human skin.'

'_What_?!'

Rose winced, realising she had just slipped up, and hurried to cover up her lapse without giving much away.

'Yeah, er, it was this… case the Doctor and I worked on. Obviously I can't tell you the details about it. Classified –' That was what spies said, right? '– But there were these people, yeah? And they skinned other people and then wore 'em.'

Peter swore. 'Seriously?'

'Yeah, it was… pretty horrible. I remember the smell more than anything.'

'And your mother's okay with you seeing all of this?' Peter demanded. 'If it were my kid…' He trailed off, with a shake of his head. 'Yeah, I don't have a clue what I'd do, if she's anything like… anyway. Can't imagine your job's easy on your mom.'

'It's not,' Rose admitted. 'Mum… she hates it. But it's my life, and she knows it's important. I mean… me and the Doctor, we save the world every day. Or try to. And I'm going to keep doing it as long as I can.'

'Some life,' he whistled. 'I guess she's at least used to you doing amazing things, though. Even before you met the Doctor.'

'Yeah, not really,' Rose snorted.

Peter shot her an inquiring look. 'Really? Because, I mean, Cambridge. That's pretty amazing.'

'Oh. _Oh_, yeah, that. It's really not that big a deal,' she said, shifting uncomfortably and looking back out the window.

'Couldn't have been easy for you,' Peter pressed. 'The only kid in a room full of adults?'

Rose wasn't sure how she was supposed to answer that. It occurred to her then that Peter might be trying to pump her for information. Why had she agreed with the Doctor's idea of them splitting up?

_Best way to lie is to tell the truth_, she reminded herself.

'It wasn't,' she agreed. 'It's sort of… suffocating, really. Bein' different. I mean, all my mates couldn't wait to drop out of school and get a job and I… I wanted something different. But, it's like, wherever I went – even when I was with people who wanted the same things I did, they always looked down on me. Cos I'm off a council estate. I never really fit in anywhere.' That sounded sufficiently vague, didn't it? 'D'you know what that's like?'

'Actually, I do,' he surprised her. 'When Walter Bishop's your father…well, it wasn't always that great, especially when I was a kid. You never really leave behind where you come from.'

'Tell me about it,' Rose sighed. Sometimes she worried that no matter how far away the Doctor took her from the Powell Estate, she would never really escape it.

'So why did you choose time travel?'

'Huh?'

'Why choose time travel as a field of study,' he clarified. 'I bet it's hell trying to get grants for something that's more speculative science than anything else at this point.'

She did not understand what he was talking about.

'Well, the Doctor helps a lot with that. He, er, knows a lot of people,' she deflected.

'He know a lot about time travel too?'

'Oh, the way he goes on, you'd think he invented it,' Rose grumbled. 'Course, does that mean he bothers telling you about what time travel does to the human body? Oh, no, slips his mind! "Sometimes messes with the biochemistry of lower species," he says. "Should regulate once it gets used to the background radiation". Seriously?'

Peter looked like he wanted to say something, but Rose soldiered on angrily.

'I mean, if it came down to radiation, he should've said something right away! But no, it's all "didn't think it was important" and other utterly unhelpful rubbish! Then, _he_ gets stroppy cos I'm upset ! But it's supposed to be common sense, yeah? Anyone would be upset if they found out they were being radiated the whole time and no one told them!'

Peter was staring at her now, and Rose realised she had gone a bit off topic.

Panicked, she backtracked, trying to bring her angry rant back to the question he had asked. Or at least in the general vein.

'I mean… yeah… no one would be interested in time travel if they figured it was doing something to their bodies without their say-so, yeah?' she prompted. 'And he knows all that biology stuff, he's supposed to share it with me… Not expect me to just know it myself.'

'Yeah…' Peter trailed off.

He looked confused, which she decided to take as a victory. Perhaps he'd stop asking her questions now.

Just in case, she decided to change the subject herself.

'So, you and Agent Dunham are together, right?' she asked.

'I – what?'

'It's a bit obvious, the way you two look at each other,' Rose went on. 'You don't talk to each other the way I figure FBI is supposed to – all official and threatening. You're close. Sort of like me and the Doctor, only different. You say a lot to each other with your eyes. And when the Doctor mentioned that bit about her being pregnant, you looked a bit protective.' She paused, the ramifications of that hitting her. 'Is that allowed? An FBI agent being pregnant?'

'I doubt the rules are very different between our agencies,' Peter remarked mildly.

'I guess.' She had no idea what those rules were. 'But aren't you bothered? Her being on cases like this, with… dried up mummies and killers and stuff?'

'Hey, you know what? Let's listen to the radio,' Peter declared, reaching forward and turning the dial. Loud, classic rock began the blare through the stereos, and Rose concluded that their conversation had ended.

_Thank God_, she said, relaxing back in her seat for the first time since getting into the car. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep this up.

The rest of the drive passed in silence.

· ΘΣ ·

Although she was now officially the head of the Fringe Science Division, Nina Sharp maintained her offices at the Massive Dynamic Headquarters. She'd told Olivia it was a matter of the place being habit with her, but they were both aware of the truth. Nina had no intention of simply letting go of the business she had controlled for so many years.

That, and some days Olivia suspected the security at Massive Dynamic were more intensive than anything the FBI offered.

Which was why she was more than a little amazed at how easy Smith managed to get past said security.

A quick flash of his billfold had the security team hurrying to get him a lanyard and soon the two of them were strolling down corridors after Nina's assistant. Along the way, Smith peeked in to rooms they passed and she heard him mutter incomprehensibly to himself.

'… nanolaser surgical technology, years to early… psycho-gustatory alterations shouldn't even be possible at this stage…'

The more he noticed, the more his scowl grew.

Thus it surprised her when, upon reaching Nina's office, he adopted a cheerful expression and shoved a hand in front of him before Olivia introduced him. 'You must be Nina Sharp – I'm the Doctor. You've got a lot of technologies here you shouldn't have.'

Nina Sharp may have been a small woman, but she projected a daunting image if you didn't know her. Olivia had seen leaders of Fortune 500 companies struggle to meet Nina's intense gaze and even hardened soldiers like Broyles be intimidated by her presence. There was very little that unbalanced the woman that, in this timeline, had raised Olivia and her sister Rachel. Although Olivia didn't actually remember much of that childhood, she suspected Nina cultivated that image – blood red hair, immaculate designer clothing and unnerving calm – on purpose.

None of that appeared to matter to Smith. In fact, he seemed as unbothered by Nina as she was by him.

'Doctor?' Nina echoed, glancing at Olivia in expectation of an explanation but not seeming the least bit ruffled by the new face.

'Dr Smith is a CIA pathologist consulting with Fringe on the case I called about earlier,' Olivia explained, frowning at her companion for his utter lack of tact. 'That's not the reason for our visit.' She refocused on Nina. 'We need some information about an individual employed by Massive Dynamic several years ago. Specifically, one of William Bell's former assistants.'

'Ah,' Nina said. 'I never thought I'd be revisiting that case again.'

She gestured for Olivia and Smith to take a seat. Olivia did, but Smith continued to stand, crossing his arms and looking expectant. Nina didn't comment on it although her gaze became very cold whenever it fell upon him.

_Arrogant prick_, Olivia thought. She desperately wanted to figure out this guy's issue, and would take no small amount of pleasure in locking him away once she did.

'By now I'm sure you know that William didn't trust many people,' Nina began, 'Besides, on occasion, myself and Walter, he kept his cards close to his chest. Walter had several assistants over the years, but William couldn't tolerate them. He only ever had the one, and even that was early on when he was just starting out.'

'Simone Parker,' Olivia supplied.

'She was a brilliant biochemist. But where William and Walter were always motivated by the need to push boundaries, their love of discovery – she was only ever driven by greed.'

Olivia shuddered. She had experienced an up close and personal version of what William Bell's drive for pushing boundaries meant.

'She wanted to use her discoveries in pursuit of power,' Smith put in, sounding unsurprised. 'It's an old story.'

'Quite,' Nina said tightly before continuing. 'From what William told me, she invented several biochemical compounds that she intended to sell to the military. Defence contract matters and overseas black op missions. Compounds like cloud condensation that could strip flesh in seconds, dust spores that could grow to suffocating size and then shrink again…'

'The very best of human depravity then,' Smith disdained.

Even though she didn't like him, Olivia happened to agree with the man's disgust. She had worked professionally with Nina for years but it still chilled her, the ease and apathy with which the older woman spoke of human casualties.

'From a neutral strand point, she was a genius,' Nina went on, ignoring Smith. 'The problem was, while she excelled in creating such concoctions, she never managed to find a cure for them. No fail-safes.'

'That would've made it impossible to secure military funding, then,' Olivia realised. 'They're not going to invest in something that can harm their own.'

'Exactly. Which brings us to the work I believe you're here to speak to me about. Dr Parker created a formula which could effectively make water a de-hydrant.'

'So anyone who consumed it would only get thirstier,' Smith mused. 'Like the concept of Greek fire, only internal.'

'Exactly.'

'And without an antidote…' Olivia trailed off.

'Ah, well, that's the thing. Apparently she managed to create an antidote for her creation this time,' Nina explained. 'She had entered talks to sign it over to the military.'

'A yes, the era of biological warfare,' Smith scorned.

'I'm sure I don't know exactly what their interest is. We're only a private company, you understand,' Nina deflected, 'but I suspect they wanted to use it for interrogation purposes. I imagine it would cut down on the need for long, tortuous months of withholding food and water to a suspect and the associated mental stress their interrogators would endure.'

'Wouldn't want torturers to have bad dreams at night,' Smith said through gritted teeth. 'Honestly, the lengths you lot go through to avoid responsibility for your actions…'

'I can assure you, Dr Smith, in this case, responsibility was taken,' Nina retorted. 'William discovered the lab animals Dr Parker had been testing were rejecting the antidote. Parker insisted she was close to perfecting it, that it wouldn't matter if a few days passed while she put the finishing touches on it. So long as she had the funding to do so, she was confident. But William chose to inform a contact of his in the military.'

'I bet Dr Parker wasn't pleased about that,' Olivia remarked.

'No. The day after they turned her away, she confronted William – only to discover he had fired her. He had no choice, really, whether he supported her research or not. Ethical concerns aside, the legal proceedings would have done a number on the company's stock.'

'I imagine it would be hard to get a job after that,' Smith remarked.

'Even if it weren't, William personally made a few calls. You understand, it was too dangerous to have someone of Dr Parker's brilliance and… questionable ethics – allowed access to the kind of technology she needed to continue her work.'

'Considering Bell wasn't exactly the most ethical man in the world, that's saying something,' Olivia remarked.

'She disappeared after that,' Nina said. 'We rarely keep tabs on former employees, but I heard through colleagues that losing her employability led to her marriage failing. There may have been a substance abuse problem as well.'

'So you pretty much ruined this woman's life,' Smith noted.

'I'd say all of that counts as motive,' Olivia said, getting to her feet. 'We can have her brought in for questioning – maybe even get a warrant to search her house.'

She needed to make a call to Broyles.

· Φ ·

The Doctor didn't bother following Agent Dunham from the room, instead continuing to watch the redheaded woman behind the desk expectantly.

Nina Sharp didn't disappoint.

'Dr Smith, do you know how many members sit on the board of Massive Dynamic?'

'No clue.'

'Thirty-one. I've met every single one, regularly play golf with three of them and have an annual lunch with the rest. Imagine my surprise when my secretary notified me that one of our board members, a Dr John Smith, had arrived with Agent Dunham today,' she said pleasantly. 'Never mind I've never seen you before in my life, but we don't have a Smith employed anywhere within our company at present.'

'But you let me in here anyhow,' he pointed out with a smirk.

'Well, you were with Agent Dunham – but I was also curious. Either you're a very stupid industrial spy or you're trying to get my attention. Either way, it seemed best to deal with you face to face.'

'A fan of the direct approach myself,' he approved.

'You should understand that the minute you walk in here, your face was circulated through a highly advanced facial recognition software,' she went on, smile not wavering. 'There's no information on you anywhere.'

'Guess it's not that advanced.'

'Our security technology rivals the most advanced government and private systems in the world. If you don't show up in those, you don't exist. As for whatever you used to trick your way in here, it didn't leave a trace.' She paused and then smiled in a predatory manner. 'It was only once I made a short phone call to a contact of mine at UNIT that the pieces fell into place_. Doctor._'

There was a loaded pause, and then the Doctor scowled at that. He dropped his false accent and groused, 'Lieutenant General Gonzales, was it?'

Her smile widened.

'Yes, and she is in fact waiting for me to call her back should my suspicions as to your identity prove correct. As I understand it, UNIT prefers to keep tabs on you when you decide to make an appearance.'

And there it was. A not-so-subtle promise that if he made her life difficult, she would make his life equally difficult. The last thing the Doctor wanted just then was for UNIT to get involved to early. He was having enough trouble dealing with the bureaucracy of the Fringe division – at least he had the freedom to work because they didn't know who he was. If UNIT stepped in…

Well, it wouldn't be pretty under normal circumstances, but these were Americans after all.

Still, the Nina Sharp wasn't the only one who could draw a line in the sand.

'The last time I checked, UNIT's focus is on extraterrestrial incidents, not brassed-off former employees playing mad scientist,' he told her. 'They won't waste their time on something that isn't their jurisdiction. Even if they did… well, not only would their bumbling ensure a murderer walks free, but it would severely jeopardise Agent Dunham's investigation. Possibly her safety.'

Sharp's eyes flashed, and he knew his warning had hit home.

'If you intend to harm her in any way –'

'I've got no interest in hurting anyone,' the Doctor cut off what he had no doubt would be an impressive threat. 'Quite the contrary. But no, that's not what I stuck around to talk to you about.'

Sharp raised an eyebrow and then made a gesture for him to continue.

'You have several pieces of technology that shouldn't be here,' he told her. 'Perception filter technology, to name one. That's years beyond what should be possible, as are isomorphic locks and the energy cells powering that cybernetic prosthetic of yours.'

Sharp flexed the fingers of said appendage. 'I'm glad you think so. Innovation _is_ our goal after all.'

'But it's not simple innovation, is it?' the Doctor prompted. 'It's technology that's out of time, taken without the discipline it took to create it in the first place. If you don't deal with, it could become dangerous.'

'All technology is dangerous until people learn to use it properly,' she replied easily. 'You wouldn't be the first to express those concerns.'

'I'll be the first who puts a stop to it, though,' he promised darkly. 'If your friend at UNIT didn't tell you that, I'm sayin' it now. And unlike you lot, I'm not bothered by lawyers or fancy pieces of paper, either.'

'Hm… you wouldn't happen to be looking for a job, would you?'

The Doctor snorted at that. 'Why would I need a job? I'd be rubbish at a job.'

Sharp raised an eyebrow. 'I can imagine. Tell me, how do you think it will impact… whatever you're up to… once Agent Dunham realises you're not CIA?'

He smiled tightly to her. 'Do yourself a favour. Get rid of the technology that shouldn't be here before I step in.'

'Is that a threat, Doctor?'

'Don't much bother with threats, me,' he remarked mildly. 'Consider this me serving notice on you. I think it's fair to give you time to get your affairs in order, don't you?'

'And if we don't?'

He shrugged cheerfully. 'Then I guess your friends at UNIT didn't tell you all that much about me either. Or what it means that I've never heard of Massive Dynamic before.' He wiggled his fingers at her. 'Bye!'

He strode away, his smile fading as he went.

First a man from outside of time, and now technology that shouldn't exist in this era? Someone had definitely been mucking about in things they ought not to be. And he needed to sit down and have a chat with that "someone" as soon as possible.

The Doctor remained preoccupied as he headed out of Nina Sharp's office and down the featureless corridor to where Agent Dunham was on her mobile.

He was missing something, and he knew it. There was something about this whole situation that was lingering outside of his notice, and no matter how many times he went over it in his head, there was no logical explanation for it.

He was probably overthinking it, really. Sometimes – though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, least of all Rose – he got stuck on the bigger picture and missed the most obvious. Innocuous little clues or facts that humans seemed to notice by default.

Maybe he should have brought Rose along after all.

_Then again, she's in a stop for some stupid human reason and probably would have spent the whole interview glowering at me_, he thought with contempt.

Almost immediately, another part of him chided him for being unfair. Rose was never petty like that, and whatever her personal feelings, she always put them aside to help save the day.

_Should head back to the lab and pick her up, _he decided. It wasn't like he was having a very productive time of sorting the mess out himself.

He was sure that the anachronistic observer was directly linked to Massive Dynamic's access to future technologies. Worse than that, he had to have been doing it for years now, because much of the machinery and tools the Doctor had seen could only be developed with future technology to begin with. If that was the case, the Parker woman had only been able to develop her little science project due to advances the company shouldn't have had in the first place.

_Which brings us right back to people mucking with time when they shouldn't be_, the Doctor reflected angrily.

The whole thing had the potential to cause more problems for the human race than a few isolated, "freak accidents". It might utterly destabilise the timelines and maybe even collapse a section of reality.

In fact, he was surprised it hadn't happened already. He could practically taste how weak the dimensional walls were. It was as if someone had been forcing their way through parallel universes, something that had been dangerous enough before the Time War. Now that those universes were locked away from the primary one, trying to travel from one to the other could collapse everything.

Considering he had the only ship left in the universe to traverse universes, there was a worryingly high probability that at some point in his future he might do something incredibly stupid.

'Dr Smith.'

He glanced up to see Agent Dunham watching him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Honestly, was that the woman's permanent expression. For a wonder, she didn't ask him why he had lingered in Nina Sharp's office.

'There's a warrant for Dr Parker being drawn up for us,' Dunham told him. 'We need to pick it up before we bring her in. It's a quick trip to headquarters.'

_Something that I intend to put off as long as possible_, the Doctor thought grimly. A tour of the FBI premises was not high on his list of priorities.

'You deal with that. I've got to pursue this Observer angle further,' he answered. 'Orders from on high, you know.'

Dunham seemed surprised. 'But there's no indication he's involved in the restaurant deaths or that of Dr Stark. In fact, he wasn't even at Dr Stark's residence as far as we can tell.'

'Doesn't matter. That's bit I've got to investigate. Would've thought you lot would be glad I'm not stepping on your toes. Isn't that what you've been worried about this whole time?'

'I just don't see the point in allocating resources to following a lead that's not going to pan out,' Dunham said carefully, though he suspected she couldn't care less what the CIA did with their resources. If she still believed he was CIA. 'He doesn't travel in conventional ways, if you know what I mean. No paper, electronics – if it weren't for showing up in the odd picture, we wouldn't have any trail to follow for him.'

The Doctor's eyes widened at that.

'Say that again,' he commanded.

Dunham stared at him as if he had lost his mind, and then slowly said, 'The Observer doesn't leave a trail. Not a conventional one, anyhow.'

'Hah! You're right!' he crowed. 'Oh, Olivia Dunham, you are fantastic!'

He hurried past her and toward the elevator.

'Wait! Where are you going?' Dunham demanded, hurrying to catch up with him.

'You've given me an idea!' he explained as the doors sprang open, turning to look at her. His frame blocked her from getting in with him. 'I need to check with the "agency" before I can follow up on it. And you've got loads to do too, I imagine. I'll meet you back at the lab – tell Rose I won't be long!' He stepped back and the doors started to close. 'You should take the stairs. Exercise is good for foetal development!'

Her angry retort was cut off by the doors sliding shut.

· ΘΣ ·

* * *

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**EC**


	6. Chapter Six

**Trigger Warning: The second-to-last section of this chapter touches on the subject of abortion. If this is an issue for you, feel free to skip the Rose POV section. It doesn't deal with an actual abortion, just a discussion of the possibility of one, in theory, down the line, which will never actually be put into the story or series because that's not where I want to go with TSL. However, I'm trying to show Rose actually thinking about these things, because it's something not addressed in the show. And while her decision might not necessarily be mine, she gives her reasons for it.**

* * *

The Doctor wasn't a fan of public transit on any planet, but Earth had some of the worst, especially in the era before teleportation technology. It took him an hour to get across town and back to the restaurant where the first murders had happened.

Once there, he whipped out the sonic and began to scan the area. He followed the same path he recalled the mysterious bald man – the Observer – taking before he disappeared into thin air.

_Not disappeared, likely teleported_, the Doctor reminded himself, frowning at the sonic interface as it sought any left-over residue from the device the Observer used.

After so long, he knew there wouldn't be enough to reverse the signal and bring the Observer back, but it might help narrow down where he was going. Once the Doctor had a point of exit and a point of entry, he would be able to find a section of time track for the TARDIS to analyse.

The sonic trilled happily, and the Doctor smirked.

'Gotcha,' he declared, ignoring the odd looks he was getting from the passersby. After confirming the readings on a second pass, he headed for the TARDIS.

The ship was still parked several blocks away from the restaurant. He and Rose had taken a taxi to the university the night before, not wanting to risk the TARDIS by bringing her too close to any form of government authority. He was relieved about that now, not fancying another stint with public transit just to pick up his ship.

Once inside, it was a matter of inputting the readings and letting the TARDIS parse them.

'Let's get this sorted, hey old girl,' he murmured, patting the console affectionately. 'Hanging about in the place is making my nose twitch – can't imagine what it's like for you.'

The TARDIS hummed in uncomfortable agreement.

Once the data from the screwdriver was uploaded to the TARDIS mainframe, the Doctor swore.

The damage was much worse than he had anticipated.

Whoever or whatever he was, the Observer had left tracks across countless time periods, some going back thousands of years and others far into the future. It should have simply been a matter of picking a time track and following it to the source, but the Doctor had to be careful.

He didn't dare pilot the TARDIS out of the current time period, not with the weakness in the dimensional walls. It might mean not being able to land back here again, and he had no intention of leaving Rose behind.

That narrowed down which temporal-spatial footprint to follow, and he worried for a moment that the closest one would be the night he first encountered the man fleeing the restaurant. He didn't want to tempt a paradox in such an unstable time if he didn't have to.

Luckily, the sonic's readings provided him with likely looking coordinates occurring this very day.

_That'll do_, he decided and punched them in.

Even without leaving the time period, the flight was rougher than usual. Whoever had weakened the walls of reality had done a number on them. It felt like a wound that hadn't healed properly, and despite the fact the Observer's trail led him there, the TARDIS didn't want to follow it.

He had to cajole and argue and eventually force her to land; she refused to go closer than a mile near the origin of the anomaly. He was forced to hike through rough terrain and snow covered forest, following the sonic's readings as they became more and more impossible.

As he neared the point where the dimensional walls were the most threadbare, the forest gave way to a large, iced-over lake.

Standing in the middle, the Doctor saw that a familiar suited figure stood, waiting.

The Observer.

He wasted no time crossing the ice, not wanting to let his quarry disappear once again by whatever anachronistic means he had.

'You sure picked a hell of a place to meet, if you were waiting for me,' he told the bald man, voice falsely cheerful. 'Hello, I'm the Doctor. Didn't get a chance to introduce myself before, what with you being too busy running away.'

The man cocked his head to one side, studying the Doctor, and then in a mild voice replied, 'I know who you are, Doctor.'

'Well, can't say the same about you. Care to share?'

'Now is not the time,' the man said.

'Tough. We'll make it the time, cos you're mucking about in things you've got not business mucking with! Especially considering you're human – oh, you've whittled away most of it, but you lot have a very distinct smell. You can only tweak so much of yourselves, but you can't change that,' he sneered. 'Fiddle with your own biology as much as you want, but you haven't got the authority to change time willy-nilly.'

'I have permission to be here,' the Observer told him, unconcerned.

'Hah! Permission from whom? More genetically modified humans?' the Doctor demanded with contempt. 'Not gonna cut it.'

'The permission comes from the highest authority,' the Observer answered. 'The Last of the Time Lords.'

Silence echoed at that statement.

'What?' the Doctor growled a moment later, his fears mounting. 'You're lying –'

'You're lying,' the Observer intoned, speaking in time with the Doctor. 'I'm the last of the – I would never –'

The realisation of what was happening came on the tail end of an excruciating wave of pain as the Observer's mind brushed against his, reading his thoughts.

The Doctor's eyes watered and he forced his mental shield up tighter, snarling, 'Stop that!'

'I am only following your directives,' the Observer informed him. 'This meeting must take place in order to establish cordiality. Otherwise, we will not be able to dialogue properly.'

'Fat chance of that – especially not after barging into my head without an invite!'

'It was necessary. In your future you will tell me to do this. You call it…attention grabbing.'

'Oh, you've grabbed my attention – the fact that you _exist_ is attention grabbing.'

'Such is the subject of our dialogue,' the Observer nodded. 'But it cannot commence now. You continue to perceive me as a threat and are not prepared to listen. I understand I must first obtain your trust. For this to happen, you must leave.'

'Not happening – the longer you bounce about, the worse you're perverting the timelines! Who knows what damage you've already done?' the Doctor pointed out. 'I'll be the judge of what's important or not. At least I know when time can safely be rewritten.'

'Pursuing this matter now will make you too late to save her,' the Observer pointed.

'Save who?'

'The woman. She is most…how do you say it?' he cocked his head to one side, thinking. '"Jeopardy-friendly"?'

The Doctor felt his hearts clench, but refused to flinch outwardly at the threat.

'I have a time machine. There's no such thing as being late.'

The Observer's expression didn't change. 'I have seen it in your mind. Your transport is damaged. You fear skipping too far ahead, too far behind. You do not wish to leave your companion behind. Again.'

The Doctor clenched his fists.'

'Careful, Time Lord,' the man went on, slowly reaching into his suit pocket and drawing something out, 'Her time is running out.'

This time the Doctor couldn't help the double take.

The Observer held out his own psychic paper, which gleamed with a date and location on it. It also appeared to be counting down seconds.

He felt a choice solidify. Either ignore the evidence in front of him and tempt a larger paradox than the one he had just stumbled in to, or trust that events had to proceed in this way.

There wasn't anything for it, really.

'This isn't over,' the Doctor told him, voice cold with promise.

'No,' the Observer agreed, 'it isn't.'

He turned then and disappeared into thin air.

The Doctor didn't waste time, taking off from the lake at a run. He would wonder about what his future self was thinking later.

∙ ΘΣ ∙

'Hey, we're back,' Peter said, awkwardly reaching out to nudge the girl beside him awake. Rose had fallen asleep soon after their aborted conversation, and for the first time he noticed the dark circles under her eyes.

She looked exhausted.

'Sorry,' Rose said, rubbing her face and then wincing when her eye make-up smudged. 'Been up all night. The Doctor doesn't exactly keep regular hours, if you know what I mean.'

'I do,' Peter chuckled. 'Do you guys have a hotel you're staying at? I could drop you off there if you need to catch some sleep.'

If they were staying somewhere, he could use that information to find out more about them.

But she shook her head. 'Nah. I'll wait for the Doctor and we'll head back together. He's always on about me sleeping too much anyhow.'

'Suit yourself,' Peter shrugged.

They crossed the campus to Walter's lab, where they found Astrid in the process of examining the body of Dr Stark. The coroner must have managed to avoid the traffic they had been stuck in. Rose wrinkled her nose, but followed Peter over.

'How's the post-mortem going?' he asked as they removed their winter coats.

'As well as can be expected. We were hoping to find any differences in the way the phenomena presents itself,' Astrid explained. 'Or to see if there's anything we missed before.'

'And is there?'

'Not yet,' Astrid answered. 'So far everything is exactly the same.'

'Have you made any headway with an antidote or vaccine yet?'

'Possibly,' Walter answered, wandering over with a syringe.

He passed right by the body and instead leaned over something on the worktable nearby. Peter made a face as he recognised a sample of the artificial skin his father sometimes worked with.

'This synthetic epidermis has been created using cells injected with anti-bodies I've engineered to be the antithesis of the dehydration bacteria,' Walter explained. 'They should, in theory, provide a barrier against the bacteria and arrest the process.'

'You should probably put these on,' Astrid remarked to Rose, passing her some safety glasses. 'You never know when something is going to blow up in here. Usually it's something harmless like fruit, but sometimes…'

'Fanks,' Rose said accepting the goggles.

They all watched expectantly as Walter injected the contents of the syringe into the fake skin. For fifteen seconds, nothing happened, and Peter felt his hopes rise that maybe they were getting some good news for the first time on this case.

Then suddenly the strip of skin began to move, as if millions of tiny bubbles were boiling beneath it.

'Oh, damn,' Walter sighed.

The skin contracted one moment, and then with muffled _pop_ exploded, sending bits of rubbery pink epidermis flying everywhere. What remained on the counter began to shrivel.

'Hm. Perhaps the antibodies were a bit too strong,' Walter mused, wandering away from his experiment. 'I'll fix that the next time…'

'Wish I'd had a pair of these the last time a flap of skin exploded at me,' Rose remarked, pulling off the goggles. She made a face when her hand came away with a piece of the synthetic epidermis. 'Oh, gross, it's in my hair – have you lot got a toilet somewhere?'

'I'll show you where,' Astrid offered. 'I need to go to maintenance and get something to clean up this mess anyhow.'

'Mind you clean the egg cartons too,' Walter called out distractedly as the two women departed. 'There's nothing worse than the smell of rotting flesh. Well. Except curry. It lingers for weeks…'

'Egg cartons?' Peter repeated, looking around. Only when he looked up at the ceiling did he see them: hundreds of egg cartons had been stuck to the ceiling, creating a span of faux cardboard stalactites. 'Why are there egg cartons on the ceiling?'

'I'm experimenting with soundproofing,' his father informed him.

'Walter, we've been here five years and you've never cared about soundproofing,' Peter deadpanned. 'We've had complaints from students and teachers and strangers visiting the campus, and you've always said soundproofing would alter the integrity of your results.'

'Yes, well, that was before. Hence the egg cartons,' he father gestured to them. 'Cardboard. Less likely to interfere.'

'Oh-kay. But _why_?'

'It should be obvious! We won't want to disturb the infant while we're working – sleep is integral to brain development in young children.'

'Disturb the – Walter, don't tell me you've got a baby somewhere around here!'

He wouldn't put it past his father.

'Don't be absurd,' Walter rolled his eyes at him. 'Honestly, is memory loss a symptom of your pseudo pregnancy?'

'I'm not having a pseudo pregnancy!'

'There will be a child in a few months, yes? Really, Peter, I thought you would be more aware of this…'

Peter scrubbed a hand down his face, not liking where this conversation was going. 'Where exactly do you think the kid is going to be? You think we're bringing it in to work with us? No, forget that – do you actually think we'll be coming in here as much as we do now?'

'I don't see why not.'

'It's called parental leave, Walter. And even if it wasn't, this isn't exactly the best place for a kid to…wait…' Peter's eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'Is this back to what you were saying before? When you said you'd have to monitor the baby after it was born?' Walter turned away, not meeting his gaze. Peter felt his hackles begin to rise, his already high levels of anxiety increasing. 'Because Olivia went to get her test results today – they said everything was fine.'

'Their tests would be insufficient to pick up traces of Cortexiphan!' Walter rounded on him. 'And I have no data sets on second-hand transmission, because it was never tested on pregnant females!' His fists clenched and he forced himself to calm down. When he next spoke, his voice was lower. 'Belly wanted to, but I refused – the children we tested the drug on, their abilities didn't manifest for weeks, sometimes much longer, and always due to a stressful catalyst. Tell me, what could be more stressful to an unborn child than childbirth? And if that child were saturated with Cortexiphan…?'

Peter suddenly had a nightmarish image of Olivia in the throes of childbirth and suddenly bursting into flames.

'Is that a danger?' he asked, tense. 'Olivia was only exposed to it for a day. That shouldn't affect the baby.'

'Normally I would agree with you. However Olivia was always the strongest candidate in the trials, and if that hereditary compatibility is passed on to her child – a child which shares its genes with a universal anomaly such as yourself…'

Walter trailed off as Astrid and Rose returned, and Peter had to check himself before yelling at them to leave again. He had more questions, needed Walter to tell him more about the possible risks, but now wasn't the time. Olivia should be here for this – she hated being kept in the dark about things – and they were in the middle of a murder investigation.

_Speaking of_, he thought as his phone rang. A glance at the caller ID showed him it was his partner.

'This conversation isn't over,' he told Walter as he lifted the phone to his ear. 'Hey Liv – hope things are going better on your end.'

'Walter hasn't come up with anything helpful yet?' his partner asked.

'Not unless it comes down to a choice between shrivelling up and exploding, no,' Peter sighed. 'You?'

'Not much more than we had before,' she replied. 'Just enough to get a warrant, though.' She relayed to him the outcome of her visit to Massive Dynamic. 'On top of that, Smith's disappeared.'

'What?' Peter glanced at Rose out of the corner of his eye; she had sat down beside Gene's cubicle, and was absently patting the beast's rump.

'He's determined to figure out the Observer. Left me at Massive Dynamic and said he'd meet up with me later,' Olivia went on. 'I tried to follow him, but by the time I made it down to the lobby, he was gone.'

'That's not suspicious at all,' he deadpanned.

'I thought so too. There's something off about this guy. And his partner, too. We need to keep an eye on her. She's isolated from Smith now, make sure she's not keeping in contact with him and we'll interrogate her as soon as possible.'

'You coming back here?'

'No. I need to find Parker first, because she's the one in the wind.'

'You need backup,' he told her, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

'I need someone to keep an eye on the girl,' Olivia returned.

Peter rolled his eyes. He wanted to keep an eye on Rose as well, and leaving Walter behind right now wasn't exactly on his list of priorities, but he needed Olivia safe. Her pregnancy overrode everything else at this point, in his view.

Not for the first time did he think of making a call to Broyles. It was only Olivia's possible reaction that stopped him from doing so.

_She's going to tell him soon_, he told himself._ She'd be stupid not to, and if there's anything I know for sure it's that Olivia Dunham is far from stupid._

'I'm not the only one here, you know,' he reminded her. 'Just hold on, I'll leave now and meet you en route. You can't go in alone, and you know it.'

There was a brief silence on the other end, and Olivia exhaled. 'Alright. I'll wait for you at Headquarters.'

'Be there in fifteen,' he said, hanging up and reaching for his coat. 'Olivia's on her way to bring in a suspect, I'm meeting her there. We'll call you when we know anything.'

'Can I come along?' Rose asked.

'If you want,' he said slowly, his mind racing to create a lie that would keep her here. 'But she said Dr Smith was on his way back here to meet you. Should I call back and tell him the plan's changed?'

The girl's entire demeanour changed at the mention of Smith's possible return.

'Nah, I can wait for him here,' she decided. 'If he gets here and I'm not about, I'll never hear the end of it. He's always sayin' I wander off too much. Besides, we'll probably need to, erm, check in and stuff.'

'Right,' he said, trying not to let on how much he didn't believe her. He turned to leave the lab, indicating to Astrid that she should follow him out.

As unobtrusively as possible, she left the lab with him, then paused expectantly outside the closed door. 'What's up?'

'Keep an eye on her,' he told her quietly. 'There's something not right about her story, or Smith's. As soon as we've picked up Dr Parker, I think Liv wants to talk to them. Easier to do when we know where they are, and at the moment, Smith's AWOL.'

'You think they're dangerous?'

'No idea. In her case, I doubt it, but just in case…make sure she get go out of your sight. And if Smith comes back here, call me. Olivia and I will be back as soon as we can,'

'Got it,' Astrid said as Peter strode away.

· Φ ·

Rose's neck was stiff and she had the distinct sense that she was being watched. Blinking awake, she let out a shriek of surprise when she found Walter Bishop leaning over her, his face less than two inches from hers.

'What the hell are you doing, you old pervert?' she cried, nearly falling off of the chair she had evidently fallen asleep in.

'Attempting to examine your styloid process,' he replied, showing no sign of being upset by her outburst. 'Are you aware that prolonged distortion of the neck can cause a rupture of in the carotid artery and possibly a minor stroke?'

Rose blinked. 'Huh?'

'Walter!' Whatever odd response he might have given was cut off by the woman called Astrid striding across the lab, a scolding expression on her face. 'What did Peter tell you about standing over people when they're asleep?' She offered Rose an apologetic smile. 'Sorry about that. He's not great when it comes to personal space.'

'Yeah, I got that,' Rose grumbled ruefully, massaging her neck.

'Are you alright? I mean, besides being tired – obviously. Peter said you fell asleep on the way here.'

'Yeah,' Rose confirmed. 'The Doctor and I only arrived yesterday. Or, well, last night. Haven't really slept much since then.'

'Jet lag's rough,' Astrid agreed. 'I mean, you guys came from England, right?'

'Yeah. Fresh off a visit to my mum,' Rose said. She laughed. 'Well, me anyway. The Doctor doesn't really do families or domestics.' Her smile became a bit fixed as she remembered his reaction to her most recent "domestic" problem. She made herself skip right past it, shrugging. 'Or sleep.'

'If you want, there's a bed set up on the other side of the lab,' Astrid offered. 'It's a lot more comfortable than that chair.'

'Nah, I want to be awake when the Doctor gets here,' Rose declined politely, and then made a face. 'Why've you got a bed in here?'

'I lived in my lab for a considerable amount of time,' Walter piped up in the background where he was puttering now around with several test tubes and coloured liquids. Rose didn't even want to imagine what was in them. 'There hasn't been a need to use it recently, however…I suppose in the future I might consider taking it up again.'

He looked oddly forlorn for the moment, and Rose felt a little bad for shouting at him. She didn't know the specifics about his argument with Peter earlier, but she knew it had something to do with Agent Dunham's pregnancy. Dr Bishop appeared to feel really bad about something, but Rose didn't think it would be wise to ask.

He had the same look about him that the Doctor sometimes got.

She cleared her throat and stood up. 'Is there any tea around here? I could do with a cuppa – think you could, too.'

'Oh, yes, thank you my dear,' Dr Bishop said with a mild smile. 'There should be a tin near the microwave.' Rose started off in the direction that he indicated, but paused when Astrid added, 'Make sure it's tea and not mushrooms. Walter's not very good with labels.'

'Right…' Rose trailed off, returning to her task. As she neared the microwave, she noticed the time and frowned. 'How long was I asleep?'

'About half an hour,' Astrid replied.

'Didn't Peter say the Doctor was supposed to be back? Oh! He didn't come while I was asleep, did he?'

'No.'

'Oh.' Rose considered for a moment. 'Should we maybe call Agent Dunham? Or Mr Bishop? Just to check in.'

'Not Dr Smith?'

'He doesn't have a mobile,' Rose shrugged. 'There's a phone in the TAR – the car we rented, but he's off with Agent Dunham, so it doesn't do me much good.'

'Does he usually check in?'

'Well…no. Not really. He doesn't really like people keeping tabs on him…'

'Well, in my experience, men don't suddenly change their behaviour in a day,' Astrid soothed. 'So if he's never checked in before, chances are he won't now.'

'I guess,' Rose sighed.

Astrid considered her for a moment and then said, 'Are you okay, sweetie?'

'What? Oh, yeah. Fine.'

'No, you're not. I've seen that look before. On my own face, if you can believe it,' the woman told her with the same matter-of-factness as Rose's mother might use. Only less scolding and more sympathetic. 'What's wrong?'

'It's really nothing serious. Just a personal problem. Completely not related to anything here. Doesn't matter.'

'Of course it matters,' Astrid said. 'If it upsets you, it matters.'

Rose hesitated for a second, torn between wanting to tell the woman it was none of her business and blurt out the entire story. Whenever anything like this happened back home, it was shared between friends. Keisha and Shareen had had a few scares as well, and they would call each other up and have sit-in at whoever's bathroom was closest. There was no such thing as problem too personal, and for the first time since Rose started travelling with the Doctor, she missed that.

She could tell him anything, really, but some things…

_Some things you need a girlfriend for_, she thought with resignation.

Rose glanced out of the corner of her eye to see if Dr Bishop was still hovering around. He was engrossed in whatever he was doing with an eyedropper and microscope, murmuring what sounded like nonsense to her. Sort of like the Doctor, in that respect.

She sighed. 'I skipped a period. That's it. I'm not pregnant – took a test, and it said no – and I was a bit upset about it, cos I mean, we're always careful – my boyfriend Mickey and me, not me and the Doctor, before you get any ideas –'

'Of course,' Astrid agreed, in a breathless voice that suggested she had been thinking otherwise and was embarrassed to be caught out.

' – and I didn't know what was going on, and then the Doctor gives me this…this explanation for why I'm skipping and makes it sounds like I have bloody cancer, and that really I'm fine and getting upset over nothing. But he just doesn't…he doesn't _get _it!'

'He's a guy,' Astrid told her. 'They don't get those things.'

'Yeah, but it's not that – I mean, he gets it. The right-there-in-front-of-him problem – but I don't think he gets that if I were…if I were pregnant, I couldn't travel with him anymore. So I'd have to make a decision, yeah? And even if I don't have to make that choice right now, just the idea of having to make it…it's terrifying.'

Astrid's eyes widened in realisation as to what Rose was talking about, and she offered her a comforting smile. 'Rose, that's understandable. Abortion is a hard call to make. But it has to be your choice – if someone is forcing you –'

'No one could ever force me to do that,' Rose told her flatly. 'If it came to that, it would be down to what I decide.'

'Well, that's good…'

'But if it came down to that or leaving the Doctor…' Rose took a deep breath. 'I think I'd do it. And that's what scares me.'

'Oh, sweetie, you don't have to make your decisions based around a guy, no matter how much you care about him.'

'That's not it,' Rose insisted, suddenly regretting the entire conversation. She groaned in frustration, and then continued, 'Look, what you lot do here at Fringe, it's to help people, yeah? To solve these weird crimes no one else can, to get justice, right?'

'Something like that, yeah.'

'And it's important to you? Like, if you couldn't work here, you'd find some other job where you were helping people, right?'

'That's why I went into law enforcement,' Astrid agreed.

'Well, that's sort of like me and the Doctor. Every day, we help people. And we see these amazing places and meet so many different people, and it's fantastic. We do this…this job that makes the universe a nicer place to live in, one person at a time,' Rose explained. 'And that…means so much. I don't ever want to give that up.' She paused, considering her next words carefully, and found that they rang true. 'Even if it means it's just me and him.'

Astrid nodded thoughtfully at that, and exhaled slowly. 'Wow. Being that certain of something at your age? You're right. It sounds terrifying.'

'Yeah…'

'Does Dr Smith know you feel this way?'

'Are you kidding?' Rose snorted. 'I can't tell him something like that.' They had only met two weeks ago. Even by Rose's standards it was too soon to have _that_ conversation. 'The daft idiot would probably think he was depriving me of something and drop me home.'

'Sounds like he's not the easiest person to get along with,' Astrid remarked carefully.

'Not always. But when it's important, we just…do.'

She couldn't really explain that dynamic out loud either. English didn't really have the right words, as far as Rose knew. And she didn't know any other languages, translation circuits or not.

Astrid was watching her with an expression she didn't like – it was too sympathetic, too knowing – and so she decided to change the subject.

'He's still not back yet,' she declared, heading over to her coat to grab her mobile phone. 'I'm going to call Agent Dunham – what's her number?'

'I'm sure he'll be here any minute,' Astrid placated.

' – I mean, she can tell us when he left. Knowing him he got distracted by…'

She trailed off as she fumbled around the pockets of her coat, and continually came up empty.

Frantically, she checked the other side of the coat, grasping inside for the familiar shape of her mobile.

Nothing.

Her phone was missing.

∙ ΘΣ ∙

'That wasn't fifteen minutes,' Olivia commented churlishly as Peter climbed into the passenger seat. It sounded curt even to her, and she silently reminded herself to relax. She wasn't sure why she was so on edge today, but there was only so much she could blame on hormones.

'No, it wasn't, but I figured you'd forgive me for being a few minutes late when you saw this,' Peter replied easily, passing her a paper bag filled with a hamburger from Junkie Genie's.

Ever since getting pregnant, Olivia had a craving for burgers almost every day. Usually her self-control kept her from pigging out, but she hadn't eaten anything since the night before and they both knew it.

As if to punctuate that thought, her stomach growled.

'Fine, you're forgiven,' she agreed as they pulled out of the parking garage beneath the building.

As they drove, she let Peter hold out the burger for her as she concentrated on driving, taking bites in between catching him up on everything had happened since finding Stark's body. In turn, Peter caught her up to speed on Walter's progress – or lack thereof.

'He'll figure it out,' she insisted. 'He always does.'

'Yeah, I'm not worried about that as much as I am about our friends from the CIA,' Peter said, digging his hands into his pockets. 'Smith still hasn't checked in?'

'No. Not that I expect him to,' Olivia answered, finishing the last of the hamburger with a little regret. She wished there was another one. She noticed Peter take something out. 'What's that?'

'Something I lifted from Rose before we left,' he answered, showing her a pink cellphone. 'Not exactly standard issue, you think?'

'Forget standard issue, that's got to be out of date now,' Olivia replied, splitting her attention briefly between the traffic and the phone. 'Won't she notice you took it?'

'I figure we've got some time before she notices it's missing. I haven't seen her check her phone once since we met her. A bit odd of a teenager, don't you think? Hell, most adults are perpetually glued to their phones…'

'It _is_ an older model.'

'By today's standards it's ancient. A Nokia 3200, if I'm remembering my specs. That model came out almost ten years ago. It should be in its death throes right now, but it's actually in perfect working order.'

'You checked?'

'Yep. Not only is it performing well above what it should be, it gets amazing service. While I was waiting in line for your lunch I dialled a few of the contacts – no one answered of course. She's British, so I guess that's a time zone thing, but all the calls connected without having to dial a country code or that nagging little voice telling me about overseas charges. Thing is, they don't have data plans for these models anymore, so that shouldn't be possible.'

'Well, she's supposed to be a genius, maybe she created some kind of pirate frequency,' Olivia suggested.

'Yeah, but why this phone? Why's a tech savvy kid carrying around a phone that old for?' Sentimental value?'

'You've got a point,' Olivia agreed with a frown.

It was just another part of the growing puzzle that was Dr John Smith and Rose Tyler. Every new piece of information they learned, the more outlandish the theories she began to spin in her head. And the more she thought about their story, the more obvious it was that they were lying.

'But if they are, how did they manage to fool Broyles?' Peter asked, and she realised she'd said that out loud. 'I mean, he's one of the most perceptive people we know.'

'There's still an outside possibility that Smith, at least, is CIA,' Olivia posited slowly. He certainly behaved like someone who had seen more than he wanted it. It was an aura that she associated with government officials and high-ranking soldiers. Rose Tyler, on the other hand, completely lacked it, making her suspect Smith was simply letting the girl tag along. 'But why would he bring Rose with him? They're obviously intimately involved –'

'Surprisingly no,' Peter replied. 'She was pretty adamant about that. It was about the only thing I don't think she's lying about.'

'Whatever she is to him, it's irresponsible for him to bring a civilian along on cases. And if she isn't a student prodigy or genius – which is most likely, because she doesn't sound like someone who's finished high yet – why is the CIA allowing it?'

'Which brings us back to the fact they're probably not CIA,' Peter concluded as Olivia took the turn-off into a rougher part of the city.

'That's what I'm thinking.'

'So who are they, then? Mysterious people show up on our case, experience has me thinking Observer, but they don't give off the usual freak vibe. There's a vibe, but they're not Observers. I was even thinking shapeshifters for a while.'

'There would be no point, now that Bell's gone,' she pointed out. 'The universes are sealed off permanently. And why would they knowingly involve themselves in a fringe case if it could get them found out?'

'True. Can't stand the bastards, but shapeshifters are usually smarter. Reporters maybe? I know some journalists that go through a hell of a lot of effort for a story –'

'They'd have to be pretty amazing at forging documents and hacking government databases if they wanted to fool Broyles and the entire FBI.'

There was a beat of silence as she guided the car onto a stretch of low grungy apartment complexes; Dr Parker lived in one of the poorer downtown neighborhoods.

'Is there an outside chance that they're the ones doing all this?' Olivia mused, thinking out loud again. 'They were conveniently in the restaurant when the first attack happened. We didn't think to ask about their whereabouts during the time frame of the second one.'

'It's possible,' Peter said slowly. 'I don't think Rose is capable of it, but Smith…there's something I don't like about that guy.'

'Besides the smug sense of superiority?' Olivia remarked wryly, sharing a small smile with her partner. 'Yeah, I've noticed it too.' It was hard not to remember the way Smith had looked at her when she took him aside to tell him how things worked. She had gotten the sense then that he was a very dangerous man to cross, and the idea hadn't abated.

'Maybe it's one of those Bonnie and Clyde syndrome things,' Peter suggested. 'You know, those nutjobs who send letters to serial killers and then marry them?'

'I don't think so…that's not the vibe I'm getting.'

'Yeah, me either. That's why it's so confusing.'

'Either way, we'll know soon,' she assured him. 'I've got someone checking them out.'

Peter laughed. 'Aren't I the one who's supposed to be in charge of "weird connections"?'

'Only when it comes to working outside the law,' she offered him a grin. 'My friend has a legal reach that puts the FBI and Nina Sharp to shame. It's a good thing she's utterly apathetic when it comes to power, or the UK would rule the world again and we'd all be in trouble.'

'Speaking of trouble, shouldn't we call for more back-up?' Peter asked as they pulled on to a one way street.

'What for? We're just bringing her in for questioning.'

'Yeah, but if this woman's the one who came up with a way to shrivel people up like prunes, we should probably have another team, just in case.'

'I'm not about to accept a drink from her if you aren't.'

'Ha, ha. But seriously. Isn't it a bit reckless?'

Olivia shot him a sharp glance out of the corner of her eye. 'Peter, is there something you're trying to say?'

'Nothing – just…right, you're pregnant.'

'I had heard the rumour,' she returned with a controlled bit of sarcasm.

'Yeah, but you're also super woman,' he went on. 'Since I've known you, you give a hundred and ten percent, throw yourself into the ring with guys twice your size, defuse bombs with your mind – it's epically cool and a little bit scary, but I love that about you. The thing is…' he hesitated briefly before continuing on, 'you're pregnant. With our baby. You realise that at some point that's got to change, right? You go chasing after some of the people we go after you could get hurt. The two of you.'

'And what do you expect me to do?' Olivia countered. 'Just put in my notice and stop working? Get a desk job for the rest of my pregnancy? What about after? Are you going to have another excuse for me to stay home and safe with the baby?' Her voice was getting louder the more she spoke. 'I want us safe too, Peter, but we have to be able to live our lives, and part of my life is my job! Or did you think I was going to suddenly turn into a stay-at-home mom?'

'Of course not!' Peter protested. 'But I don't think it's too much to ask that you take it easy a bit while you're pregnant.'

'How am I supposed to take it easy when there are people out there like Simone Parker?' Olivia snapped. 'People who create weapons that shrivel you up or boil your blood or…all the other stuff we've seen over the years? Our daughter's going to live in this world, don't you want to make it as safe as possible before she gets here?'

Peter opened his mouth as if to say something, but at that point Olivia pulled into the apartment complex where Dr Parker lived. She turned off the ignition and threw open the door.

'I'll be on mat leave soon enough, so I'm going to get as much done as possible before then,' she told him. 'This job is part of that. Now are you coming or not?'

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_Was too exhausted to do a final edit before posting. Long day finalizing stuff for my new job, so whatever I missed in this chapter will be dealt with when I send my beta the chapters. Chapters One, Two and Three have been done within the last week, so I figure it won't be too long before these ones are done too. Yay for WIPs..._

_EC_


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